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A CHILD OF 
THE PLAINS 

Bt 

WAYNE GROVES BARROWS 

Author of “ The Law of the Range ** 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

ROLAND S. ST EBB INS 



THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. 
BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A. 

1910 



Copyright, 1910 

The C. M. Clark Publishing Company 

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
U. S. A. 

All Rights Reserved 


CONTENTS 


PART I 

WHEN THE SIX-SHOOTER WAS LAW 


Chapter. 


Pag* 

I. 

“Only a Friend of the Family.’* . 

. 1 

II. 

The Unwritten Law at Dodge City. . 
PART II 

. 11 

WHEN THE COWBOYS OWNED THE TOWNS 


III. 

The Land of Fear 

. 35 

IV. 

A Child of the Plains. 

. 44 

V. 

The Meeting With Cap’n Kidd. . 

. 51 

VI. 

The Pride of Craft 

. 68 

VII. 

Jim Buys Another Gun. . 

. 81 

VIII. 

At the Water-Hole 

PART III 

. 94 

THE PASSING OF THE SIX-SHOOTER 


IX. 

“Inspiration Is Blind.” 

. 107 

X. 

“Reckon We’re On the Same Mission.* 

’ 117 

XI. 

A Holiday At Maxwell Ranch. 

. 130 

XII. 

The Kid 

. 144 

XIII. 

On the Drive 

. 152 

XIV. 

The Rivals 

. 162 

XV. 

In a State of Corruption. ... 

. 173 

XVI. 

On a Wild Goose Chase. . 

. 190 

XVII. 

Whereby Actions Speak Louder than 



Words 

. 209 

XVIII. 

A Run On the Bank 

. 214 

XIX. 

The Counterfeit 

. 227 

XX. 

The Last of Cap’n Kidd’s Clan. 

. 246 

XXI. 

“Why Should I Marry a 'Rich Duck 

from 


the States’?” 

. 273 

XXII. 

The Higher Nature of Man. . 

. 283 

XXIII. 

The Loser Wins 

. 319 

XXIV. 

“I Thought I’d Killed You.” . 

. 331 

XXV. 

“I Give Her Back To You.” . 

. 344 

XXVI. 

The Coyote of the Desert. 

. 356 

XXVII. 

The Cowpuncher’s Wedding. . 

. 365 

XXVIII. 

Born Again 

. 375 

XXIX. 

The Humor of Jack 

. 395 

XXX. 

The Man in Chaps 

. 410 


Jfcitrateb 

IN LOVING AND SWEETEST MEMORY OF 
MY LITTLE DAUGHTER 


RUTH 


“WAY OUT WEST” 


Includes the following novels: 

“The Law of the Range” 

“A Child of the Plains” 

“The Call of the West” 

While forming a series, these three novels will 
be independent of each other, and connected only 
through their relation to the old range, the irri- 
gated ranch, and the characters introduced in the 
first. 

The first novel, “The Law of the Range,” deals 
with the war between the big cattleman and the 
rustler, and shows how the courts were con- 
trolled by the latter, who fixed his case accord- 
ingly. The second novel, “A Child of the 
Plains,” portrays the passing of the six-shooter; 
while the third, “The Call of the West,” will 
narrate the story of the New West under the 
irrigation “ditch,” and the inestimable value of 
water. 


W. G. B. 































I 





A 


/ 


PART I 

“When the Six-Shootee. Was Law” 
















































'This J3oo)( l $ Pure JonK '■ 


Chapter I 

Only a Friend of the Family 

Pierre Maxwell liked the companionship of 
the fair sex, and when the toils of the day were 
over he came to the cabin every evening as if it 
were his own father’s. He always had to explain 
his absence to Mrs. Bartlett, and was treated as 
one of the family. 

But he came with no thought of marriage. 
When the boys called to see Annie Bartlett, 
Pierre would never interfere, and she was at 
liberty to leave him when they came. Crafty 
Hudson tried to tease her a little about Pierre 
coming so often to the cabin. 

“Oh,” said Annie, “but he’s only a friend of 
the family.” 

So the matter was dropped. 

Annie was a very popular young lady, and 
the boys soon forgot “the friend of the family” 
in their strenuous efforts to make a good impres- 
sion. The rivalry waxed hot. Each one strug- 
gled to appear at his best as he endeavored to 


2 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


carry off the prize. Crafty Hudson was even 
allured to the “meetin’ house” in his great desire 
to win the fair one’s favor. 

But Pierre ever sought her company when she 
was alone, and if the boys could have seen the 
little acts by which Pierre and Annie were being 
unconsciously drawn into relation closer than 
friendship, they would have exclaimed with sar- 
casm: “Yes, he’s only a ‘friend of the family’ I” 

One evening Hudson asked Pierre, “Goin’ 
‘over home’ to-night?” 

“Guess I will,” said Pierre. 

“Come on with us to town; it’s Saturday, an’ 
we’ll have a leetle fun,” tempted the wily rival. 

“No, thank you, Hudson; guess I’ll go ‘over 
home.’ Come an’ go with me,” Pierre answered, 
defensively. 

“I’ve got to go to town with the boys.” 

“You have? You know your failing, and 
there’s only Sunday to sober up in,” Pierre 
warned. 

“It’s only a leetle game o’ poker to-night; 
we’ll all come back plumb sober.” 

“Bet you five dollars you don’t.” 

“I’ll take you,” Hudson retorted, as they 
parted company. 


ONLY A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY 3 


Monday morning Pierre paid his bet. He had 
lost this time — because the boys were trying to 
make good impressions on Annie, and they had 
come back from town “plumb sober.” 

One evening a little later, Hudson and Charlie 
Anderson called at the cabin to see Annie. They 
were disappointed to find her not at home, and 
went away chagrined. 

“ ‘Only a friend of the family’ !” Hudson sar- 
castically exclaimed. “Shore, an’ so are we!” 

“But we,” said Anderson, with a grin, “are 
only e friends of the family,’ while Pierre is ‘only 
a friend of the family.’ ” 

“Here I’ve spent money on Annie,” said 
Hudson, angrily, “an’ taken her ’bout every- 
wheres! The ‘friend of the family’ stays quietly 
at her cabin, takes her nowhars but hoss-ridin’, 
and spends a very leetle on her! Yet, when she 
might expect me to call, she goes out with him!” 

“Oh, well,” Anderson smiled, “she’s only a 
girl. They’re all alike. If she don’t work you 
for all she kin git out of you, she ain’t a girl, I 
reckon.” 

“The other feller, who lays low, always gits the 
best of the bargain. I tell you what, Andy, these 
here ‘friends of the family’ are all right!” 


4 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


1 “By jinks!” Andy exclaimed, “I wouldn’t 
wonder if they’re engaged already.” 

“You think they’ll git merried?” 

“Well, things are certainly a-lookin’ that-a- 
way.” 

It was one of those clear moonlight nights, and 
Pierre and Annie enjoyed their ride. They re- 
turned home after the old folks had retired, and 
'N sat before the fireplace, talking of the happenings 
of the day. How perfectly contented they felt 
together! How fast the time flew — suddenly the 
old clock struck eleven. 

“By jinks!” Pierre exclaimed, “who’d a- 
thought it was that late? I ought to be goin’, but 
’tisn’t every night I kin find you alone.” 

“Maybe you don’t choose to,” she answered, 
turning around and smiling at him. “You are 
generally with pa and ma.” 

“I have to be — you’re always entertaining the 
boys.” 

“Because they come to see— me,” she smiled, 
with significant emphasis. 

“Don’t I ?”. he asked, likewise emphatically. 

“Yes, but when they come, you vamose to some 
other room, and leave me to entertain our — com- 
pany.” Annie’s smile broadened roguishly. 



ONLY A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY 5 

“Oh,” he smiled, “that’s different.” He threw 
a fresh log on the fire. “I would like to see you 
oftener,” he added. 

Annie could not see his face. “In public or 
alone?” she asked, mischievously, after a short 
pause. 

“Both,” he replied, earnestly, turning toward 
her. 

“Which would you like the best?” 

She had cornered him, and he blurted out the 
thought uppermost in his mind. “Thar’s a rumor 
that we’re engaged.” 

“Why will people be so meddlesome!” she re- 
torted, pettishly. “The minute they see a young 
couple together, ‘they’re engaged’.” 

Pierre kicked the log, sending a shower of 
sparks up the chimney. At last he spoke: 
“They’ve had us engaged the last two years!” 

“By this time we ought to be married, I sup- 
pose, just to please people!” 

He burst into a Hearty laugh. “Yore folks 
might do a little s’posin’ that-a-way themselves, 
mightn’t they?” 

“Ma did say that she’d rather have you marry 
me than any other man she knew of.” 

He wheeled to her. “What did you say?” 


6 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I — I said — Pierre’s a fine fellow!” 

“Do you still think so?” he persisted. 

“More so now than at any other time.” And I 
she looked up at him with a smile playing around 
her lips. 

“And you know I care fer you Annie — a great 
deal.” 

“Only as a ‘friend of the family’!” she smiled. 

He gazed into the fireplace in silence, thinking 
of their conversation. Without the least inten- 
tion he had approached a subject he would have 
avoided for a time. But they had the highest re- 
gard for each other, and they had unconsciously 
spoken what was in their hearts, although they 
had not begun it seriously. They really meant 
what they had said; even though they did talk 
in a joking way there was earnestness behind it 
all, and finally it had developed naturally into 
something more than witticism. 

“I’m such a greenhorn,” said Pierre. “You’re 
’bout the only girl I’ve ever known, an’ not havin’ 
much experience, how should I know?” 

“Know what?” 

“Know that I love you ’nough to make you my 
wife? A man’s got to have more than just a 
likin’ fer her, Annie. I might esteem you, but 


ONLY A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY 7 


what if I’d merry you, and some day I’d see a 
woman I’d fall in love with — don’t misunder- 
stand me — I mean this: I think it’s better fer a 
man not to be too hasty; he ought to know more 
than one woman before he merries her. Some day 
he might run acrost his right mate — and then — ? 
I know you love me — ” 

“How do you know it?” 

“Yore actions — yore looks — yore words! If 
I’d ask you to be my wife, I know you would.” 

“You think you could get me for the asking?” 
she asked, proudly. 

“I think it would be hard for you to refuse; 
but I’ve be’n honest with you. From what I’ve 
tol’ you, would you keer to be my wife? Would 
you have full respect for me? Trust in me? 
When a man can give a woman a house an’ 
clothes, it’s an easy thing fer him to fin’ one to 
live with him; but clothes an’ things very soon 
wear out. There’s a lot o’ men who merry jus’ to 
have a good little housekeeper. Does she re- 
spect him when she fin’s out? They soon have 
disagreements an’ quarrels. There are certain 
things which bind a man and woman together; 
if you merry an’ haven’t got them things, perty 
quick you see another that has, an’ you’re jus’ 


8 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


plumb loco fer yore mate. Life’s strange. Some 
men see a woman an’ they’re shore she’s the one. 
Bimeby they find out thar mistake — when it’s too 
late. It’s easy enough to git merried, but it’s 
another thing to git unmerried. That’s why I 
want to be so keerful afore I ask you. I want to 
be shore that I really love you as a man should 
love his wife.” 

She made no answer, but sat looking at the fire. 
He walked to the table, picked up his sombrero 
and returned to her. “Mebbe I’m wrong in this 
deal, Annie, but I’m playin’ fair.” 

“I would not marry any man unless he loved 
me, no matter how much I loved him,” she said, 
rising. 

“I know it,” Pierre assented. “I hope you 
savvy me. Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear 
an’ you don’t savvy my feelin’s toward you?” 

“I think you have made it clear to me. How 
many girls must you study?” 

He smiled and answered: “It depends on how 
much I kin learn.” 

“Men are strange,” she sighed. 

“Think so? How about women?” 

“A woman is so different from a man,” she 
replied. 


ONLY A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY 9 


“Don’t you see,” he asked, “if we’re so differ- 
ent from each other how we mus’ become alike 
if we’re to be one?” 

They were walking slowly toward the door. 

“Guess I’m goin’ at it as if it was life or death. 
A man might have his notions what his wife 
should look like; the color of her eyes; how old 
she should be; but when he meets the right one, 
even all his tomfooleries are thrown away. You 
couldn’t help showin’ me that you love me, 
Annie. Some day I’m a-goin’ to merry you.” 

“You’re not like any of the other boys,” she 
confessed. 

“I s’pose not,” Pierre said, fingering a rip in 
his buckskin glove. “They’re jus’ crazy to git 
you because they kain’t.” 

“You need a wife,” she smiled, putting out her 
hand for the gauntlet. “Let me sew it.” She 
returned to the table with the glove, sat down and 
began the operation. 

Pierre stood by watching her. He said after 
a short silence, “I kinder think the boys are git- 
tin’ jealous of me.” 

“It isn’t your fault,” she said, without looking 
up. 

“No,” he said, slowly. “That is, not exactly.” 


10 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“It’s partly mine, isn’t it?” 

“Your’n? Do you treat ’em all like me?” he 
remonstrated. 

She looked up with eyes full of mischief: “I 
can’t help it, you know, it’s my nature, Pierre.” 

“Oh! you little witch!” he exclaimed, bending 
and kissing her. Then he realized it was done! 
She smiled at him with all the joy of her loving 
heart and he felt how empty life had been before. 

“Which is the greenhorn?” she asked, after a 
pause. 

“I take it all back,” he said, with another kiss. 
“ ’Tisn’t fascination, Annie; it’s love!” 

They were content to rest in silence, speaking 
not, but clasped in a loving embrace. They had 
begun a new life! 

The old clock struck twelve, the fire burned 
low, the room grew chilly, the glove was lying, 
half-sewn, upon the floor. They sat long, caress- 
ing and pledging their love. 

The news rapidly spread. The boys all treated, 
saying over their glasses, with knowing winks, 
“I tol’ you so!” 

“An’ him ‘only a friend of the family’!” Hud- 
son sneered. 


Chapter II 


The Unwritten Law at Dodge City 

The life at Dodge City, Kansas, was wild and 
reckless. The place was a favorite rendezvous 
for cowpunchers when idle. It was the day of 
the six-shooter, which apparently was law — that 
is, it seemed to be the controlling authority in 
this particular territory. Every citizen carried 
“a small cannon” in a holster that was tied low 
on his right thigh — if he were a right-handed 
man — and he used the weapon to settle such dis- 
putes as words could not adjust. At the same 
time, most of the “killings” occurred at the hands 
of the intoxicated, and they were dealt with ac- 
cording to the unwritten laws of the range and 
the mood of the hastily gathered crowd, who 
acted as jury. 

If a man drew his “gun” in some affair and 
fired from nervousness, he was in deep disgrace. 
He generally left the town, because he was sure 
not to be very popular. When a plainsman “let 
loose his guns” from the sheer breaking forth of 
his great joy upon “cornin’ in fer a good time,” 


12 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


he was excusable; should a bullet do some dam- 
age, the demonstration of joy was sufficient to 
pardon the rash act, and the accident was quickly 
forgotten after a “treat all ’round” 

Just such an incident had happened. The 
offender was Crafty Hudson of the “Fraser 
Outfit,” and the victim was Charlie Anderson of 
the “Bartlett Outfit.’’ The latter was well liked, 
and Hudson had to treat a little extra “to square 
himself.” But Andy was getting on quite nicely, 
and the town had settled back into its natural 
state. 

It is no wonder that Hudson went wild on 
entering town after a few months of hard work 
on the round-up; he was starved for society, and 
the pleasure made him heedless — society is al- 
ways reckless! 

Andy lay uneasy and fretful on a bunk, look- 
ing longingly at his belt and six-shooter hanging 
from a wooden peg driven into a log of the wall. 

“You shore are jus’ loco to git up ag’in,” Mr. 
Bartlett said. 

“ ’Tain’t no fun layin’ here,” said Andy. “But, 
I’ll be darned!” he sighed. 

“You won’t be long gittin’ well,” said Pierre 
Maxwell. 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 13 


Pierre had left his father’s ranch of about two 
million acres in New Mexico, and blundered into 
Dodge City, Kansas. It seemed strange that he 
should leave such an excellent opportunity, but 
this was a land that asked no questions of any 
man. Why should he be working as a common 
cowpuncher on Mr. Bartlett’s ranch when he 
could have gone back to the “Maxwell Empire” 
in New Mexico and been a prince — if a girl had 
not won his heart? And there she was attending 
to the wounded man on the bunk. 

Her father had taken Andy into his log-cabin 
and he was receiving a woman’s tender nursing; 
yet he was eager to get out. Some men would 
have been only too glad to remain under such 
treatment, taking the opportunity of wooing the 
nurse; but Andy knew to whom she belonged 
and that his chance, or what might have been a 
chance, was spoiled, and he made no pretensions. 
He was not the only rejected suitor. Girls were 
at a high premium in this city and Pierre had 
made some false friends when he carried away 
the prize. Although Andy had felt a little as 
the other losers, he was now a staunch friend of 
the Bartletts and of Pierre. Their worst enemy 
had, by his bursting enthusiasm, accidentally 


14 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


brought them together. If Hudson had not been 
so reckless, Andy would have been in his ranks, 
and the beginning of the end would have been 
different. 

Thus, when Hudson stood in the doorway 
with as pleasant a smile as you ever saw, asking 
how Andy was, the latter replied: “Won’t be 
long ’fore I kin put you whar I am!” 

Hudson entered, wearing the same dangerous 
smile, unbuckled his cartridge belt and hung it 
with the heavy six-shooter on a wooden peg near 
the door, meaning, of course, that he gave the 
law into other hands and they could deal with 
him just as they pleased; he was before “the 
jury,” calm, smiling, helpless, but perfectly con- 
fident, with the iron nerve of an Indian. 

“I hope you won’t lay ’t up ag’in me,” he said, 
after a short pause. “I’ll allow I was a leetle 
too gay with my ‘guns.’ ” 

“I don’t lay the casualty up ag’in you, Crafty,” 
said Anderson, “ ’cause a feller kain’t help let- 
tin’ loose his ‘guns’ onct in awhile: if he couldn’t, 
what’s the use of havin’ any? Besides, we mus’ 
keep ‘the law’ in good practice. But next time, 
don’t be so careless!” 

“Wal, you see, gentlemen,” said Hudson, 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 15 


jokingly, “I didn’t ’member loadin’ my ’guns’; 
I thought I had emptied ’em cornin’ in. I shorely 
didn’t know,” he grinned. 

“Ignorance of the law don’t excuse anyone,” 
said Mr. Bartlett. 

Hudson was smiling as serenely as ever. “Not 
when you take the law” (pointing to the revolver 
hanging on the wall) “in yer own han’s. I’ll do 
better nex’ time!” he burst out. 

Pierre kept his eyes on the artful expression 
of the speaker’s face and saw deeper meaning to 
the words than they at first conveyed, because 
Hudson was looking straight at him when he 
spoke, as if he intended to have revenge. They 
stood looking at each other, these two rivals, 
speaking not a word. Then suddenly Pierre 
saw through the trick of Hudson. 

“Crafty,” said he, half-closing his left eye, 
“you’ve earned yore name — kin savvy?” 

“Not very well.” 

“You’re a cunnin’ devil!” 

“This ain’t the place to tell me!” 

“Then don’t come ’roun’ here playin’ frien’. 
Mr. Bartlett, you have a daughter, an’ some of 
the boys would like to merry her. Now, it hap- 
pens I’m the lucky feller. S’posin’ Hudson 


16 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


would wish to put me out o’ the way. Couldn’t 
he come ridin’ down the street with ’is ‘guns’ 
smokin’ an’ by a tricky shot get in a ball fer me? 
The citizens would think it was an accident. 
Don’t it strike you kinder queer? An’ wouldn’t 
it be easy to bribe the jury? Wouldn’t it? Mr. 
Bartlett, what do you think of a genuine ranger, 
dead-shot and shrewd scoundrel tryin’ to kill a 
man on the street by such an amateurish trick? 
Don’t it strike you queer? What do you think of 
Crafty Hudson woundin’ a man by an accident? 
A tenderfoot might be excused, but to think of 
such poor ‘gun-play’ from Hudson is astonishin’, 
when he was plumb sober! I’ll bet you the bul- 
let Andy got was meant fer me. Min’ you, 
Crafty had to shoot quick an’ sly so as not to 
rouse suspicion, an’ I was lucky ’nough to escape 
injury.” 

“You kain’t prove it, jus’ the same,” said Hud- 
son. “But you’ve got to pay fer what you’ve 
said — Mr. Bartlett, I’ll leave my ‘gun’ hangin’ 
on yore wall till I kin git it with the consent of 
the court.” 

“Just a minute,” said the rancher, as Hudson 
was about to go out. “I advise you to keep still, 
’cause we may git more facts in the case, an’ 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 17 


make it mighty unpleasant fer you. Crafty, the 
bes’ thing fer you is to leave town.” 

Hudson swore defiantly. 

“If you don’t leave, we’ll make you feel a d — n 
sight queer!” Mr. Bartlett went on. “Take 
yore ‘gun’ from my wall, an’ git!” 

Hudson walked over to the wall and took down 
his six-shooter, carrying it by the belt and letting 
the weapon hang in its holster almost to the floor. 
How much he reminded them of a punished 
school-boy that was being sent home with his 
books swinging from a strap. Hudson held his 
revolver thus to show to the others that he de- 
signed no drawing of the “gun” from its leathern 
sheath, because it would be impossible (when 
Bartlett and Pierre could jerk loose theirs from 
the firmly tied holsters hanging low down on 
their thighs) to reach the trailing weapon. He 
had the name of “Crafty,” so the other plains- 
men’s thumbs rested lightly on their belts, and 
very near to the holsters; they were prepared to 
meet any artifice that Hudson might spring with 
the devil’s inspiration. 

“A-look here!” Hudson exclaimed, trembling 
with passion, “youse fellers have got the drop on 
me an’ I’ve got to do what you say. I’m a-goin’ 


18 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


to leave town — but not ’cause you ordered me. 
I was on my way out afore I come here, an’ jus’ 
stopped in to see how Andy was gittin’ on. You 
have put up the cards on me afore the game, but 
I hoi’ a good han’, too; I’ll play you to the finish! 
Ef you think I’m goin’ to dodge fight, you’re 
mighty fools, an’ if yore story gits ’round town, 
I’ll come in an’ settle with you!” 

He went out, mounted his broncho, and rode 
away. They ceased to think of him. 

One night, about a month later, Pierre paused 
to look around him as he approached Mr. Bart- 
lett’s cabin. Far away the lights of Dodge City 
looked like dots of red fire. How much brighter 
was the light which streamed through the cabin 
window not fifty feet away. It was her window! 
Soon he would be lightly rapping on it. Then 
her face would smile sweetly out at him and she 
would open the barrier to receive his caress. 

He was stepping quickly toward the cabin 
when he heard an angry voice, but he could not 
make out what was said. Crouching beside the 
wall, he applied his ear to a crack between the 
logs where the chinking had fallen out. 

The door opened and Pierre shrank back. In 
the light streaming from within stood that man 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 19 


who made his blood boil; and he would have 
jumped like a panther upon Hudson had not 
the door closed with a loud bang, leaving him 
cursing, as the heavy bars were drawn by the 
same hand which had pushed him from the en- 
trance. 

“Lemme in,” Hudson growled, pounding with 
his big fist. 

Pierre’s pistol flashed in the light that radi- 
ated from the window as he stepped out and 
covered Hudson, commanding: “Git ’way from 
that door!” 

“So you’ve be’n eavesdropping!” sneered Hud- 
son. 

“I overheard you insultin’ Annie, an’ threat- 
enin’ my life. You better stay clear o’ this cabin, 
you dirty cur! — you bark too loud to bite!” 

Hudson’s eyes flashed like an angry serpent’s 
ready to strike, and he hissed: “When I git the 
chance, I’ll jus’ kill you!” 

“I’ll be ready to shoot on sight, Hudson, you 
hear me! I’ll take yore bluff! Take off yore 
‘guns.’ ” Hudson unbuckled the belt which held 
his weapons and let it drop. Pierre continued: 
“Crafty, the sheriff wants to see you, an’ if you 
don’t show up by to-morrow mornin’, we’ll be 


20 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

lookin’ fer you with a long rope. Now, git out 
o’ here, an’ be quick!” 

Hudson hesitated, but a pistol offers a strong 
argument, and he turned slowly and followed the 
direction of Pierre’s finger pointing toward the 
town. 

The next morning as the boys rode out to work 
on the Bartlett ranch, Andy told them that Hud- 
son was in town. He did not know of Hudson’s 
appearance at the cabin the night before. 

“Where’d you see him?” asked Pierre. He had 
commanded Crafty Hudson to see the sheriff, 
and possibly Hudson had disobeyed. 

“At the ‘Red Apple,’ ” Andy replied. “He 
came in las’ night, irrigated too much an’ got 
noisy. ‘Zay,’ he says to me, ‘you know that cow- 
puncher over at Bartlett’s the biggest coward 
that ever packed a gun?’ Says he, ‘I kin lick 
Pierre Maxwell with my little finger! He’s a 
tryin’ to steal my girl on me; if he does, I’m a- 
goin’ to lay fer him. Zay, partner, what’ll you 
have?’ ‘I’ll take yore heart if you don’t shut up,’ 
says I. ‘Zay, partner, don’t you do’t, ’cause I 
kin lick anybudy in the worl’,’ says he. I knows 
that when a galoot has got whiskey in him, he’s 
a dangerous shot, so I turns to the barkeeper 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 21 


an’ orders drinks fer two. Hudson sort of 
swayed from side to side, blinkin’ his eyes like 
an owl in daylight, an’ says: ‘Don’t keer ef I do, 
pard.’ He swallowed the drink. Then he treats. 
I drunk little ’cause I was playin’ off : I wanted 
to fix him fer puttin’ this hole in me. When 
Crafty couldn’t hoi’ a glass to his mouth, I gets 
a jug from the barkeeper an’ simply pours 
whiskey down Crafty till he falls paralyzed to 
the floor!” 

“Where is he?” Pierre asked. 

“Where is he?” Andy laughed. “Ha! ha! ha! 
He’s dead to the worl’ jus’ now! I’d like to put 
him out o’ the way so s’t he kain’t do you no 
dirty work.” 

“Don’t you worry,” said Pierre, “I’ll always 
be ready! ‘Lick anybody in the world.’ Ha! ha! 
ha! Andy, but you laid him out cold, you shorely 
did!” 

Hudson disappeared; but everyone was on 
the watch for him, feeling that he might play 
some deviltry when least expected; he was not 
the one to be beaten so easily. 

“I’m afraid he’ll kill you, Pierre,” said Annie 
one night as they sat in front of the cabin. “I 
feel every time I see you go into the darkness 


22 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

that every shadow’s got a gun pointing at your 
back.” 

Pierre felt somewhat that way himself, but he 
tried to dispel her fear. “We’ll ketch him soon,” 
said he. “The sheriff an’ all of us are lookin’ fer 
him.” 

“Yes, but he might harm you before you can 
catch him.” 

“He’ll have hard work to git a chance at me 
in daylight, an’ I’ll lay low at night, so’s he 
kain’t git the drop on me.” 

“I feel uneasy sitting here; Hudson might be 
hiding and it would not be hard for him to shoot 
you. Let’s go in an’ put out the light,” she 
said, drawing him toward the door. 

“Guess this is a case where a man ought to be 
glad he’s livin’,” Pierre said, reluctantly follow- 
ing her. “I hate to go dodgin’ in my hole like 
a scared prairie-dog.” 

“ ’Tain’t ’cause you’re scared, but it’s just to 
cheat Hudson. He’s just crafty enough to 
know that you would naturally be fool enough 
to strut around like a game-cock, crowing and 
flapping your wings for fight, while he hides 
behind some brush and coolly shoots you in the 
back. If you love me, Pierre, don’t be reckless.” 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 23 

“I won’t,” he said, tightening his hold on her 
hand. 

“You’ll promise?” she asked, turning at the 
door. 

“You kin bank on it,” he reassured. 

“I know it goes against your grain to sneak 
around Hudson, but it’s for the best, sweet- 
heart; you must play a coward at his own game.” 

“Guess I’ll have to git a whiskey jug, like 
Andy done.” And Pierre laughed at the recol- 
lection. 

She pushed open the door and they went in. 
Annie put out the light and they talked in 
security. 

Things went on this way for some time, and, 
hearing nothing of the whereabouts of Hudson, 
although Annie warned Pierre time and time 
again, he began to grow more heedless every 
day. One night, against her many protests, he 
went so far as to light the lamp and sit under 
its bright rays to write a letter. 

Annie took the precaution to hang heavy 
blankets over the windows, and sat beside Pierre, 
resting her elbows upon the table, her chin sup- 
ported in her clasped hands. 

Pierre looked up from his work, saw her 


24 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


watching him and he smiled. He was surprised 
to discover how womanly she had become, and his 
whole being quivered with the passion of love! 

No wonder that under its power the girl be- 
came unwary and in such a sacred moment she 
left her lover’s life unguarded. The thud of a 
horse’s hoof -beats upon the sandy road quickly 
brought her to her feet, and she extinguished the 
light. 

The rider pulled up his little pony before the 
cabin, threw the reins over the tossing head, dis- 
mounted and walked toward the door. He 
rapped. 

“Who’s there?” Annie asked. 

“The sheriff,” was the reply. 

The girl withdrew the heavy bars, opened the 
door, keeping it in front of her for a shield. In 
the doorway stood a dark form. After a pause, 
Annie asked: “What is it, sheriff?” 

“Are you alone?” inquired the voice. 

“You’re not the sheriff,” she replied, swinging 
the heavy plank door into his face. 

“Ha!” Hudson exclaimed, stopping the force 
of the door with his boot, “not so quick, you 
hussy! Lemme in, or I’ll break in.” 

Pierre threw open the door and pressed the 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 25 

big .45 almost against Hudson’s heart. “Hud- 
son, if you come ’roun’ this cabin ag’in I’ll shoot 
you like a dog! I’ve fooled long ’nough with 
you! You tol’ Annie you was the sheriff, you 
liar!” he burst out, hitting Hudson full in the 
stomach with the toe of his boot. Hudson drop- 
ped to the ground in a spasm of pain. 

One night some time later Pierre was telling 
Annie not to worry about his safety, he would 
be very careful, for Hudson was a crafty scoun- 
drel, when a low knock sounded upon the door. 
Pierre rose to open it. 

Annie caught him by the arm, saying, “Be 
careful, Pierre, it might be a trick.” 

“Who’s there?” he called. 

“Hello, Pierre; open the door.” 

“It’s Andy,” said Pierre, as he opened the 
door. “What’s up, Andy?” 

“Come out here, an’ I’ll tell you,” Andy re- 
plied. 

“Promise me you won’t go away before you 
come in and see me?” pleaded Annie. 

He paused a moment, gazing at her with fond 
admiration and love. He recalled the first time 
he had met her, how she had gone out to him. 
Now, as he beheld her standing in the faint light 


26 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


of the moon, which had burst through a fleeting 
cloud, he almost trembled as he thought of what 
would become of her if Hudson killed him. 

The door closed and he stood there in the 
night. 

“Say, ol’ man,” said Andy after a short silence, 
“some cabins are better lookin’ than others, ain’t 
they, especially when you’ve be’n inside an’ know 
the folks?” 

“Did you see her a-standin’ thar in the door- 
way?” 

“Shore; I sorter envied you, too. Kinder 
wished I had a girl to fight fer.” 

“Do I have to fight fer her?” 

“Crafty’s a-waitin’ fer you, lyin’ behin’ a 
clump o’ brush. I struck his trail down by the 
river an’ I be’n on ’is track all afternoon. I 
could’ve shot him, but I knowed you would’ve 
be’n disappointed. You kin sneak up behin’ 
him an’ I’ll walk past the brush, wearin’ yore 
clothes. We’ll change outfits, so’s he’ll take me 
fer you. When I goes by the brush, Crafty’ll be 
ready to shoot. You’ll be behind him an’ jus’ 
afore he fires, Pierre, for the love of her, kill that 
sneakin’ panther!” 

“I’ll crawl up to him an’ when he goes to shoot, 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 27 

I’ll ketch him in the very act! We’ll beat that 
crafty fox at his own game. You beat him with 
a whiskey jug; I’ll settle him with col’ lead! 
Wait here a minute.” Pierre entered the cabin, 
and took down the heavy rifle from the fire- 
place. 

“Pierre,” said Annie, “what’s the matter?” 

“Hudson’s hidin’ behind some brush, waitin’ 
to shoot me as I go by. We’re a-goin’ to fool 
him. I mightn’t see you ag’in tonight. If we 
git him, we’ll hustle him into town. If he gits 
’way from us, we’ll never live in peace, ’cause 
he’ll be a ‘snake in the grass,’ strikin’ when we 
least expect it. Don’t you worry,” Pierre said, 
kissing her tenderly. “So long. Guess I’m 
ready, Andy,” said Pierre, as they finished 
changing clothes. “I won’t take this rifle; it’ll 
be in my way when I’m crawlin’ on my han’s an’ 
knees. You take it. I’ve got my ‘guns’ in thar 
holsters. I’m a-goin’ to git right on top of Hud- 
son, so’s the powder will burn his shirt! Nothin’ 
like bein’ shore of yore game.” 

“We’ve got to be in this case,” said Andy, ex- 
amining the rifle. 

With great care Pierre worked toward the 
brush. He lay behind some grass, thinking and 


28 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


resting, as he peeped over, trying to locate his 
enemy. Pierre crawled slowly, very careful in 
the moving of his position; the crackling of a 
stick, or the least noise would put Hudson on 
his guard and tell him that something was near. 

Again the moon broke through the clouds. 
Pierre’s breath came quick, and his right hand 
instinctively raised the big .45. Not sixty feet 
away there crouched a dark form close behind 
the brush. Pierre’s first impulse was to kill Hud- 
son as he lay, but upon a second thought he 
changed his mind, and waited to catch Crafty in 
the act of shooting Andy as he passed. 

The sound of Andy whistling caused Hud- 
son’s pistol to flash in the moonlight, and his 
eyes were fastened on the figure walking toward 
him. Hudson gave a low and fierce chuckle that 
did not go out from his lips, but passed down 
into his throat. 

Everything seemed deadly still. It was a time 
which tested nerves. These were men of nerve, 
and when the time came to act, they steadied 
their weapons coolly. The flash from Pierre’s 
pistol was just a hair-breadth ahead of that of 
Hudson, and the latter sank down, his revolver 
going off into the air. 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 29 


They left Hudson lying where he fell and went 
into town. The sheriff soon knew all about it. 

The next morning the boys gathered about the 
Bartlett cabin, and the jury’s verdict was “Pierre 
done the right thing.” 

About five years afterward, Pierre’s wife and 
son suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. The 
frantic father headed a searching party, but no 
trace of the missing ones was found. Still 
the grief -stricken man despairingly persevered. 
Without touching food or closing his eyes for 
hours he madly kept up the pursuit, till, tortured 
and crushed with grief, worn out with the hard- 
ships of the trail, he broke completely down in 
body and in spirit. 

The Bartletts watched and nursed him ten- 
derly. His wife was their daughter, and so they 
experienced his awful anguish. They told him 
that for his little daughter’s sake he must be a 
man. 

Thereafter, Pierre, sorrow-burdened and de- 
spondent, wandered aimlessly over the plains. 
Life, which had been so bright before, was now 
dark and hopeless. Some days he was unusually 
brave, and other times it seemed that he could 


30 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

not endure it any longer. He could not be rec- 
onciled. 

During one of the darkest of these hours he 
received the following note: 

“Peeair Maxwell — we are friends of Hud- 
son you killed five year ago — we have re- 
venged him by doing the same to yore son 
and wife — mebbe you’ll know now how it 
feels.” 

Pierre’s hands shook violently and his face 
turned ghastly green. He staggered to a chair 
and fell. When revived with whiskey he sprang 
up and rushed madly away. For a week his 
friends sought him, and finally found him sense- 
less by a stream. They carried him home and 
patiently nursed him back to life. But, when 
his strength slowly returned, he could not be in- 
duced to stay. 

On one of his wanderings he chanced upon a 
wagon train, and while chatting around the camp- 
fire he became acquainted with a little boy of 
about four years old. Then his sore heart poured I 
out the pitiful story of his bereavement. 

“His folks was killed by Injuns las’ week,” said 
one of the freighters, looking toward the little 
boy. 


THE UNWRITTEN LAW AT DODGE CITY 31 

“An orphant!” Pierre sadly remarked. 

“Shore. He ain’t got no kin.” 

“No kin?” Pierre repeated. He knelt and 
gathered the fatherless child in his arms, and 
bathed the surprised face with tears. Then he 
arose and looked around on the agitated circle 
about the fire: “Friends, have you ever heard of 
the Maxwells of New Mexico? I’m Pierre Max- 
well, an’ I’ll take this boy to be mine. He shall 
fill the vacancy left by my murdered son.” 

They one and all silently arose and shook 
Pierre’s out-stretched hand, and the bargain was 
closed. 

A few weeks later Pierre, with his little 
daughter. May Maxwell, and his adopted son, 
Ed, left Dodge City, Kansas, for Maxwell City, 
New Mexico. 






PART II 


“When the Cowboys Owned the Towns” 



Chapter III 


The Land of Fear 

In Old Mexico there lived a well-to-do Ameri- 
can cattleman who gave Jack and Clara every- 
thing to make them happy that money could buy. 
At first these pleasures wholly occupied their 
young minds, and they thought of nothing else. 
But as they grew older they began to observe that 
their mother rarely left her room, and then only 
in company with their father. And, too, they 
were only allowed to see her in his presence. 
They talked it over together, and then the boy 
became so bold as to ask his father the reason. 

The man replied, “Yore mother isn’t very well, 
an’ kain’t be bothered with children; she kain’t 
stand it. If you worry her I’ll have to take you 
far away, Jack.” The boy stole back to his 
sister and whispered the warning. 

In time the children were allowed to see their 
mother less and less, and they naturally believed 
that she was growing worse, especially when the 
doctor’s calls increased. Then a trained nurse 
came, and the people went about the house in 


36 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


whispers. The children would tip-toe up to their 
mother’s window outside, and there stand, hand in 
hand, and watch. 

At last a day came when their father led them 
into the room. For a second they gazed at the 
awful change in their mother — then with a de- 
spairing, frightened cry they sprang toward her 
bedside and knelt, bursting into tears. Weak as 
she was, the mother endeavored to comfort them. 
But the children instinctively felt that something 
was about to happen. The father cautioned them, 
still their grief could not be quieted. The mother 
spoke of heaven and the beautiful things there. 
The children listened with wonderment; they 
had never heard it revealed that way before and 
their sobs ceased. The man sat in a chair with 
his chin resting on his closed hand as he stared 
vacantly at the Indian rug in front of him. 

He was aroused by the entrance of the doctor, 
who, after a quick, searching glance at the sick 
woman, said that the children had better be taken 
out awhile. 

‘‘Don’t take them away,” the mother begged, 
‘T won’t be with them much longer.” 

“Annie! Annie! Don’t talk that-a-way,” the 
man cried, kneeling beside the bed. And the 


THE LAND OF FEAR 


37 


children grasped their mother's hands the tighter 
with the realization that something terrible was 
going to happen. 

At first the doctor’s efforts to separate them 
were vain, but at last his entreaties for the sick 
woman’s condition succeeded, and he was left 
alone, except for the trained nurse. 

But his patient grew weaker and weaker, and 
he called them in, saying to the husband in a low 
whisper that everything known to medical science 
had been done for her. 

As the inevitable drew near, the grief -stricken 
family lingered at the bedside. The sick woman 
endeavored to cheer them, and with a prayer in 
their behalf she passed away. 

“Annie! Annie!” cried the man, gazing on her 
impassive features. 

A shrill cry brought him quickly to his feet and 
he stood an instant with head held high, like a 
deer scenting danger. Then he sprang from the 
bedside and disappeared through a door into an 
adjoining room, where he entered a secret pas- 
sage. But none too soon to escape a force of 
police who burst into the death chamber with 
loud, angry threats. The doctor told them of the 
situation, but could give them no encouragement 


38 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


as to the hiding-place of the man they were seek- 
ing. In vain they searched for the secret opening. 
Thus the baffled party left with threats of venge- 
ance. 

Although these children had never seen their 
mother alone, nor hardly more than a few min- 
utes a day, and consequently she was not as close 
to them as a mother should have been, she was 
their mother, and now, as they fearfully gazed 
on the silent figure on the bed, a realization came 
to them that she would never speak to them 
again. Then together they knelt at the bedside, 
grasped the cold, stiff hand, buried their faces 
in the cover and grieved. But no answer. 
Silently they raised their tear-stained faces and 
gazed again at her impassive face! 

“Doctor,” cried the girl, “why won’t mamma 
speak to us?” 

The kindly old man tried to draw them away 
with a smile, saying that she had gone to heaven 
and was awaiting her children there. 

“Where’s papa?” asked the boy. “Why did he 
run?” 

The doctor endeavored to make some excuse. 

“To arrest him?” the boy demanded, suspi- 
ciously. “He must have done something bad.” 


THE LAND OF FEAR 


39 


“Will papa ever come back?” the girl asked. 
“Is mamma waiting for him in heaven, too?” 

The agitated doctor could not meet that inno- 
cent gaze and he turned away. 

“Oh, I know!” the boy exclaimed. “He done 
something to break mamma's heart, and it killed 
her! I’ll find him, doctor, and when I do, I’ll 
kill him dead! I kin shoot straight, doctor. I 
kin hit a silver dollar at thirty feet every shot. 
Come on and I’ll show you.” 

The doctor, glad to take their young minds 
from the death scene, quickly accepted the invita- 
tion. 

For the next few days everything possible was 
done to occupy their thoughts. 

After the simple funeral was over, the doctor 
left them in charge of the nurse and went his way. 

A few days later she called them, as usual, to 
their breakfast, but this time she heard no reply. 
Upon entering their chambers she found the 
rooms empty. The house was searched in vain. 
The nurse quickly spread the news and soon 
searching parties hurried in all directions. At 
nightfall they returned without the little ones. 

“Oh!” cried the nurse, “the poor little babes in 
the wood! What will become of them?” 


40 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Instinctively the children felt that they would 
be followed, and so at the first break of dawn they 
hid in an old, deserted adobe, remaining there all 
day. Again at night they set forth on the trail of 
the unknown. Hand in hand they stumbled on 
in the darkness, every little sound spurring them 
onward, in spite of the gnawing pain of empty 
stomachs. 

Toward midnight they flung themselves on the 
side of the trail and slept from sheer exhaustion. 
But soon the chilly air from the plains caused 
them to rise, stiff and shaking, and they stag- 
gered on. 

Often they sank down to rest, huddled in each 
other’s arms for warmth, and their heads would 
nod again and again as they sat there, not dar- 
ing to lie down. Then the cold would force them 
to totter on. 

But they did not once think of turning back. 
They did not think of where they were going; 
they trudged painfully on and on. Behind them 
was the Land of F ear ; before them, a good angel 
must have whispered, was the Land of Shelter 
and Hope. 

When the encircling mountains began to loom 
up in the first faint light of the morning, the 


THE LAND OF FEAR 


41 


weary children sank once more beside the trail. 
For almost an hour they sat there, nodding their 
little heads and trembling with the cold and 
fatigue, as they struggled to keep awake. 

Then they lost all sensibility. 

Presently something was forced into their 
mouths and their benumbed senses awoke. Their 
eyes slowly opened and they gazed around as in 
a dream. They heard a kindly voice: “You’ll be 
warm perty soon, dearie,” and perceived that an 
elderly woman was bending over them with a 
flask in her hands. 

“Where am us?” gasped the boy, endeavoring 
to sit up. 

“Lay still, dearie,” smiled the woman. “You 
mustn’t move till you’ve e’t an’ your strength 
comes back. John,” she called, “they’re all right 
now; bring the broth.” 

When the hot drink had revived them and the 
warm blankets had shut out the cold, the boy told 
his story of how and why they had run away. He 
ended with the tearful plea: “An’ you won’t take 
us back?” 

“No, no, dearie; we won’t. Will we, John?” 

“This is bad business, wife,” he answered. “We 
might git into trouble with thar folks.” 


42 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Folks!” the wife interrupted. “Didn’t he say 
he had no folks — but a robber father? What 
would make the child lie, if it ain’t so? Do you 
s’pose they’d run away from a loving home? No, 
John; just use a little common sense. These are 
my children now; can’t you see that God has an- 
swered my prayers at last?” 

So the matter was settled. 

The children were placed in the old “prairie 
schooner,” comfortably wrapped in the warm 
blankets, and the bumping, joggling, rocking 
motion of the old camp wagon soon put the happy 
pair into a restful sleep, as the emigrant foster- 
parents drove on their way. 

Stout hearts they were, to follow the trail made 
by the early pioneers, who crossed the plains in 
wagon trains, braving the danger of the attacks 
of the Indians and the hardship and the terrible 
suffering on the waterless desert, where the trail, 
as it reached out, was marked in many places by 
the graves of those who had died on the journey. 
Sometimes the wrecks of furniture or the re- 
mains of a charred wagon told of the awful 
tragedy enacted by the savage redman. The 
trail was strewn with the bleached bones of cattle 
which had died from drought and battle. And 


THE LAND OF FEAR 


43 


a little way from the trail occasionally one would 
run across the scattered bones of human skeletons, 
which had been dragged there and left unnoticed, 
unclaimed, without a grave ! 

The tired oxen were pushed onward at a slow 
pace till a valley was reached in Arizona where 
they raised cattle, and here the new movers 
settled. 

“Wall, here we be, Maw,” said the husband, 
jumping down. “Hand out Clara an’ Jack an’ 
then yore little self, an’ we’ll see how it feels to 
stand on our own land ag’in. Some day the 
children will be a great help to us.” 

“The Lord be praised!” answered the devout 
wife. 


Chapter IV 


A Child of the Plains 

A drought came at last in earnest! Cattle- 
men coming in from “the hills” reported that 
“cows were dyin’ like fleas.” All the available 
pastures under irrigation in the valley were 
quickly taken at a high sum per head. Bands of 
skinny cattle were driven here and there in 
search of food. Food, the helpless creatures 
must have, and if they could not find it them- 
selves, it must be procured for them. 

In a few weeks all the pastures “under the 
ditches” were eaten off to the very roots. A 
few of the cattlemen had stacked hay on hand 
which had been reserved to the last. But this, 
too, gave out, and then the helpless stock was 
again turned out to shift for itself. Daily, death 
added skinny carcasses to the vast number lying 
in the valley. 

Jack Morris returned home a little late one 
evening, very taciturn. He was coaxed to eat 
something. After he had finished his supper he 
drew his foster-father aside and told him that 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


45 


there was a rumor around that Cap’n Kidd was 
on the warpath again. 

“We’ll ketch him this time!” exclaimed the 
elder Morris. 

“I hope so,” Jack replied. “But he’s a slip- 
pery snake. I think, Dad, seein’ times are so 
dull an’ money so scarce, I’ll join the cavalry. I 
may be able to send a little money home, too. 
Anyway, I kin help against them troublesome 
Apaches.” 

“It’s a job you’ll git little thanks for, Jack. 
An’ the risk is perty big; the Injuns, as you 
know, ’most always torture the captured to death. 
You won’t git much glory nor reward.” 

“It will be enough reward to know that I have 
done my duty.” 

“You kain’t make a very big display fightin’ 
Injuns. They kin only be hunted down by ever- 
lastin’ houndin’, which gives little chance fer 
decent fightin’, but at the same time requires the 
best of knowledge. Most folks don’t savvy, an’ 
they wonder why it takes so long to wear the red 
devils out.” 

“Well,” said Jack, “you see, I’m old ’nough 
now, an’ I want to do somethin’ toward helpin’ 
you earn a livin’. As the cattle business has gone 


46 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


all to smash, I kain’t git a job ’roun’ here — ex- 
cept I leave Arizona — so I thought if I joined 
the cavalry I would, at least, be near you an’ 
could drop in occasionally.” 

“Yes? An’ s’pose you were detailed to some 
other place?” Jack did not answer, and he 
kicked a clod with his high-heeled riding boot 
from which jingled a large Mexican spur. 

“Don’t you think you’d better stay home, 
J ack? There’s no reason why you should leave us. 
This drought won’t last forever an’ we’ll manage 
to stick it out somehow. You think it over. An’ 
say, Clara went over to nurse Harvey’s wife 
this afternoon an’ if you’re not too tired, I wish 
you’d go over an’ fetch her home. I’m kinder 
fagged out or I’d go myself.” 

“There’s no occasion. I’ll call for her. An’ 
say, don’t say anything to ma of what I’ve said 
’bout joinin’ the cavalry.” 

“You jus’ git that out of yore fool head, Jack,” 
advised his foster-parent. 

When Jack and his sister returned home a few 
hours later, she went into the house to make some 
coffee and get something to eat (because the 
long ride had produced a keen appetite) while 
he put up the horses. As Clara entered the room, 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


47 


there, on the floor, lay the bodies of her parents. 
Her cry quickly brought Jack to her side. He 
took in the situation at a glance. He stooped 
and read a piece of paper pinned on his foster- 
father’s breast: 

“These poor devils wouldn’t tell where 
they hid their money, so I was forced to 
teach them a lesson. 

“Yours truly, 

“Captain Kidd of Arizona.” 

Jack slowly arose and gazed upon his parents’ 
faces, but not a muscle of his own moved; yet 
back of that set countenance there struggled 
human emotions harder to bear than feelings re- 
lieved by tears. Not so, his sister — her sorrow 
poured forth in a fit of weeping, which brought 
her brother out of a state in which the soul 
seemed momentarily to have passed out of the 
body, and he caught her in his strong arms just as 
she was about to fall into a faint. He carried her 
into her room, bathed her face with cold water, 
and gradually she became quieted. 

The news of the murder spread quickly and 
soon there was a posse of determined cattlemen 
hurrying in search of Apache Kidd. One of the 


48 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


neighboring ranchers took Clara home to his wife, 
as Jack had joined the band. 

After hours of an unsuccessful hunt, the weary 
men made ready to return home. But Jack told 
them that he would stick to the trail until he 
found Kidd, dead or alive ! The leader tried 
to prevail upon him to go back with him, but 
Jack remained firm. As they were about to 
separate, he asked the leader to see to the burial. 

“Jus’ dig the grave near the oF house; I think 
they’d like to rest thar. An’, now, I wish to 
thank you, boys, fer yore help. I’ll see you 
later — maybe it’ll take weeks — maybe months — 
maybe years. So long, boys, so long!” 

“So long, Jack; good luck!” they replied, as 
he turned his broncho’s head and rode slowly 
away, his eyes fixed on the ground. 

All that day he made the wiry little beast fol- 
low its steady, swinging lope. About sundown 
the rider drew rein at the Gila River, and re- 
moved the heavy saddle, then the bridle, sat 
down and ate some “hard tack” and jerked beef. 
After cooling off, the horse was in condition to 
drink, and he was led to the water. After his 
thirst was sufficiently satisfied, he was hobbled 
and turned loose to graze. Then Jack wrapped 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


49 


himself in his blanket, laid his head on his saddle 
and fell asleep. 

At the first trace of morning in the east, he 
was astir. Again he ate the “hard tack,” jerked 
beef and drank at the river. After which he 
caught his broncho, saddled and bridled it, and 
once more the monotonous gait was struck. At 
noon, as the scorching sun was straight over head, 
he entered a little town called Bailey’s Wells, 
in San Simon Plains, and stopped for refresh- 
ment. 

As the broncho showed signs of the hard 
journey, his rider allowed him several days’ rest. 
But Jack was not idle; he endeavored to get news 
of Captain Kidd’s whereabouts. Rumor had 
him in San Simon Valley and thither Jack re- 
lentlessly bent his trail. 

There he was disappointed and so rode through 
the Perilla Mountains down into Sulphur Spring 
Valley. Again he was foiled. But here he 
chanced to find a little work at Tombstone and 
so earned some money which he needed. Then 
he passed on to Cachise, near Alkali Flat — then 
into the Aravaipa Valley. So he wandered for 
many days, doggedly hanging to the long trial. 

At last, after a fruitless search, he returned 


50 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


home. He found that a neighboring rancher had 
been very good to Clara. 

The brother and sister went back to the old 
home and endeavored to live as before ; but home 
was not as it used to be: the absence of the miss- 
ing ones was cruelly felt. Also money was get- 
ting scarcer every day, so Clara decided to go to 
San Francisco to work. With a long embrace 
and a loving kiss she parted from her brother. 
He watched the train disappear, then he turned 
with a sigh and walked to his horse. For a time 
he gave the little beast its head, riding in deep 
thought. The broncho naturally loped toward 
home. 

“No, Calico, not thar,” said he, reining up 
with a start, which caused the well-trained horse 
to fall back on its haunches, its head tossed high. 
“Not thar,” he repeated. “It ain’t the same. 
We’ve got to hit the trail. From now on, Cal, 
we won’t have any home but the hills or the 
plains. An’ we’ll always be on Cap’n Kidd’s 
trail — fer he’s the cause of all this! We’ll fol- 
low him night an’ day till he’s ours, Cal! Come, 
let’s be off; my soul thirsts fer him! No rest 
fer us till we bring Apache Kidd to justice! Till 
then we’ll camp on the plains!” 


Chapter V 


The Meeting With Cap’n Kidd 

Captain Kidd soon learned that a young fel- 
low was hounding his tracks and Jack was 
watched carefully. One night the spies reported 
the place of his camp and the Captain dropped 
over to pay him a call. 

Jack awoke with a start, and he heard a sharp 
command: “Han’s up, sonny!” He looked into 
the muzzles of a brace of Colt’s and obeyed. 

The Captain drew Jack’s belt and holster — 
which lay on the ground by his head — away with 
the toe of his boot, and said: “I’m Apache Kidd, 
sonny, an’ I jus’ dropped over to ask you why 
you’re breakin’ yore neck to find me.” 

“Look into the inside of my hat an’ you’ll find 
a little piece of paper which will tell you.” 

Captain Kidd found the blood-stained note he 
had himself pinned on old man Morris’s breast 
with those awful words of mockery. “So,” said 
he, crumpling it in his left hand, “you’re here to 
revenge him, I reckon.” 

Jack made no reply. 


52 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Just then the full moon disappeared behind 
a fleeting cloud and Jack’s hand dropped on the 
ground beside his head. Captain Kidd knew the 
meaning of the sound and he laughed. 

“I’ve got yore gun, child; don’t be angry. Let 
us lovers enjoy the poetical darkness for awhile. 
The moon will soon be out — so let’s become better 
acquainted. I know you’re jus’ natcherally 
itchin’ to spring at my throat; but, child, it 
wouldn’t help you any, because my men, hidin’ 
all ’roun’ us, would resent yore unkind treatment. 
Besides, wouldn’t that be a nice way to receive 
a visitor who has jus’ dropped in to pay you a 
call? So let’s be sociable, dear! Now, did you 
dance the las’ dance, an’ who did you escort home? 
An’ say, wasn’t Sam Jones’s gal a stunner?” 

The veins in Jack’s neck almost burst under the 
tantalizing remarks and he could contain himself 
no longer, being at the point of springing up and 
burying his hand in his tantalizer’s throat. He 
would have lost self-control if at that moment 
the moon had not reappeared and in its bright 
light they eyed each other: the one with the tor- 
menting look of an Indian, the other with all the 
hate and rage of a cornered lion. 

The tormentor grinned mockingly. “You’re not 


THE MEETING WITH CAPN KIDD 53 


very entertainin’, child. Come, tell me why 
you’re seekin’ me — were them yore folks?” 

Jack remained silent. 

“Answer me!” Apache Kidd commanded 
fiercely. He leaned closer to Jack, his voice 
sinking almost to a whisper and his eyes glar- 
ing wildly: “I’ll have my men build a fire an’ 
you’ll sit on it till you’re thawed out; you’re too 
icy, child!” 

Jack knew that his captor was merciless and 
that he inflicted the most terrible tortures; yet 
he scornfully returned his gaze. 

After a short, fearful silence, a triumphant 
smile crossed Apache Kidd’s face, as he stepped 
back. “I know — I know! They weren’t yore 
folks — because Tm yore father !” 

It was Jack’s turn now to sneer, and he said 
disdainfully, “You?” 

“You were a youngster when I left you — but 
I recognize you now!” 

“Then, father,” said Jack, mockingly, “please 
take yore ‘gun’ down; you may git too enthusi- 
astic over this happy reunion an’ hurt yore dear 
son!” 

The other paid no heed but asked: “Whar’s 
yore sister? Is she livin’?” 


54 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Yes, Apache Kidd, she is ! You took my folks 
from me — but my sister is safe.” 

“I tell you they were not yore folks.” 

“The same thing: they raised us.” 

After a pause Cap’n Kidd muttered: “You 
must be the one. But you’re so changed I 
hardly kin make you out — except thar’s some- 
thin’ about yore eyes that makes me think of yore 
mother — when you looked at me a certain way. 
Isn’t it strange I should remember after all these 
years? Maybe you kin think back an’ see her 
on her dyin’ bed: a little boy an’ a little gal an’ a 
man. Then the man jumped up an’ ran away. 
Soon the police entered the house — but they 
couldn’t find him — he was gone.” Strange emo- 
tions worked in Jack’s breast as the other con- 
tinued: “Then the old home went to pieces. The 
little boy an’ the little gal went out into the cold 
world an’ found shelter. Boy! boy! God fergive } 
me, I’m sorry fer what I’ve done; they were kind 
to you an’ yore sister — she was the image of yore 
mother, an’ how I worshiped her ! An’ yore sister, j 
too! Many’s the time she’s sat on this knee, an’ I 
you, too. But she was my favorite. An’ .you 1 
were a good little boy; not a bit jealous. Why 
couldn’t them times just a-kept on an’ on!” 


THE MEETING WITH CAP’N KIDD 55 


“Because you were an outlaw!” Jack ex- 
claimed. “An’ it was you who brought me to 
this!” 

“I couldn’t help it. Mebbe some day you’ll 
find out how it all happened. But now that you 
know I’m yore father, will you still follow my 
trail?” 

“I kain’t seem to fergit them ” 

“Why didn’t they hand the money over peace- 
fully?” 

“Because they didn’t know you!” Jack burst 
out. 

The outlaw chuckled savagely. Then he said: 
“I reckon you do. Jus’ a few minutes ago yore 
life wasn’t worth a cent: I intended to kill you 
on the spot an’ learn the rest a lesson; but a 
father, you know, hasn’t quite the heart. If I 
let you go will you promise me to never hit my 
trail ag’in?” 

“Under the circumstances, I cannot do other- 
wise.” 

“Then walk straight away from me as quick 
as 3 T ou kin. I’ll jus’ keep this little ‘gun’ of 
your’n to keep temptation out of yore hands. Go, 
boy, an’ don’t look back!” 

Jack silently obeyed and as he hurried away he 


56 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


expected to feel the hot sting of a bullet in his 
back. 

But the outlaw did not fire. He stood there 
in the bright moonlight watching the form dis- 
appear behind the brush. 

“You’re young, boy,” he soliloquized, “very , 
young — only a child. Maybe some time you’ll! 
hunt down yore pore ole father an’ give him up — 
fer you are clever, like me: you’ve got the pride, 
of craft! They say, too, you’re quite a pistol 
shot. Oh, you’ll make a man yet ; you’ve got the 
stuff in you! But it’s a good tiling that when X 
looked into yore eyes I saw thar a look I’ve some- 
times seen in yore mother’s!” 

The faithful band collected around the chief. 

“Say, Cap’n,” said Big Collins, “barrin’ family; 
relations, didn’t you do a fool tiling to let him 
go?” 

The leader ently wheeled on his heel, and his 
men follower am to their horses. One of the 
band led a little cow-pony with an empty saddle. 

Jack lay on his stomach behind some brush,: 
listening for the slightest noise. Any moment 
he expected to hear the approach of footsteps, 
and next, to see a form loom up in the bright 
moonlight. “Oh, for my ‘gun’!” he sighed. 


THE MEETING WITH CAP’N KIDD 57 


After a while, as he heard no alarm, he fell 
to thinking. And his head sank on his crossed 
forearms. He buried his face in them and bitter 
tears of disappointment wet his shirt sleeves. 

“Why didn’t I be careful?” he sobbed. “Why 
did I let him surprise me? — but I didn’t even 
suspect I was any place near him! Oh! I kain’t 
savvy it all! It’s jus’ my luck! No! I’m a fool! 
Only a child! Yes, a child! He said so! An’ he 
made sport of me — he tantalized me. An’ I said 
I’d never follow him. What kin he expect? 
What does he take me fer? If I don’t follow 
him — maybe some time we’ll happen to meet” 
(Jack raised his head and glanced fiercely 
around), “an’ if we do — if we do — father or no 
father, he’ll be jus’ the same to me!” 

Jack cautiously arose and “hit” the back trail. 

Not far from his left the terrible wail of a 
coyote pierced the still night air. r T ack helplessly 
clinched his fists and ground his ch as he stag- 
gered on, his high-heeled riding boots making 
walking very difficult. 

Toward nightfall he “struck” a ranch and told 
his story. After the empty pain in his stomach 
was somewhat satisfied, he mounted a broncho 
and led a heavily-armed band of cowmen in pur- 


58 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


suit. At the bend in the trail Jack suddenly 
jerked up his broncho and at the same instant his 
big six-shooter came out, quickly followed by the 
entire watchful band. They saw a broncho tied 
to a cactus forty feet high. 

“Thar’s my bronc!” Jack exclaimed, slipping 
from his saddle. 

The others did, too, putting the horses in a 
circle for protection in the manner of breastworks, i 
over which peeped deadly firearms and sharp 
eyes glancing in all directions. 

“I kain’t see nothin’,” one remarked, presently. 
“They are keepin’ low — it’s an ambush all right.” 

After a long silence, Jack said: “We kain’t 
stay here like this ferever. Let’s walk along 
toward my bronc, keepin’ on the inside of ours 
so’s we’ll be protected.” The band moved cau- 9 
tiously as Jack suggested, and came up slowly , 
to the horse. “My guns are hangin’ on the saddle- 
horn!” Jack exclaimed. 

They encircled the horse, keeping behind ^ 
theirs as before, and Jack reached for his 
weapons. He discovered a piece of paper stick- 
ing in the holster. He snatched it out, unfolded 
it, and read: 


THE MEETING WITH CAP’N KIDD 59 


“Dear Son: — I knew that you would 
surely hit my trail as soon as you could get 
help, so I left your property here so you 
might find it. I was very sorry to be com- 
pelled to take it from you at the time. Al- 
low me to give you a little fatherly advice: 
don't chase us too far because we’ve had a 
very good start and are also well re-enforced; 
so don’t weary yourself. Better go back, 
child, and forget your poor old dad. He 
does not always treat such naughty, trouble- 
some boys as leniently as you and perhaps 
next time he’ll be compelled to punish you. 
As it was, it was a good thing for you that 
in your eyes, as you looked at me so scorn- 
fully, I saw something of your mother’s look. 
That look saved you. So long, child! 

“Your very affectionate father, 

“Captain Kidd.” 

“He’s a good one!” said one of the band. 
“Isn’t it sympathetic?” grinned another. 

Jack gazed fiercely at the message. 

“He’s makin’ a fool of you,” said a third. 

With a savage curse Jack crushed the note in 
his hand. “If he thinks I’m only a kid, I’ll show 
him!” 

He thrust his toe in the stirrup and was about 
to mount. “Don’t show yourself,” said one, 


60 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


holding him back. “Wait till we find out if any 
of ’em are ’roun’.” The speaker placed his coat 
on the stock of his Winchester, put his sombrero 
on top and raised it slowly above his horse’s back. 
A second later he pulled it down and waited. 
Then he repeated the trick several times. 

“Boys,” said Jack, “you’d better return home; 
this will be a long trail.” He took off the bor- 
rowed belt and six-shooter and returned them to 
their owner. “Yes,” he continued, buckling on 
his own, “this will be a long, long trail; — but I’ll 
stick to it!” 

“Better come back an’ git some rest first,” in- 
vited the one who had just received his Colt’s. 

“I kain’t,” Jack replied; “the trail’s gittin’ too 
cold now.” 

“What kin you do alone?” asked one. “Mebbe 
he’s jus’ drawin’ you, anyway. Fer that matter, 
mebbe we’re all surrounded right now by the hull 
Apache Injun tribe.” 

Jack hesitated. 

Then he said: “Next time I won’t be caught 
sleepin’. So long, boys!” he added, riding away. 

They knew that it would be of no avail to try 
to change his purpose. It was a very foolish 
idea for a single man to try to trail a band of 


THE MEETING WITH CAP’N KIDD 01 


desperadoes, but Jack was so intent on seeking 
Apache Kidd that he was beyond reason. So 
they silently allowed him to go. 

“So long!” they called. “Good luck!” 

“He shore is a kid,” one remarked. “What 
kin he do alone, anyway? Mebbe he’ll learn some 
day.” 

The band watched him a long time to be cer- 
tain he was not followed, then went back. 

For an hour Jack kept to the trail. Then, as 
it was nearing sunset, he guided the broncho aside 
to make camp for the night. He removed the 
heavy saddle, then the bridle, and turned the 
broncho loose to get what scanty food it might 
find. They had no water that night. Jack sur- 
mised that Captain Kidd knew where to find it, 
and that the trail would lead him to some the 
next day. So he heroically swallowed his jerked 
beef. As night came on, he rolled himself in his 
blanket, his elbow on the ground, his face in his 
hand. His ears were patiently waiting to catch 
the slightest sound. In front of him lay two big 
Colt’s. 

Not once, as the night slipped by, did he al- 
low his eyes to close; not for a second was he off 
his guard. Like the Indian, his very nostrils 


02 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


were even ready to scent the least danger. Not 
more than an instant did his gaze rest on one 
spot. 

At the first break of day he was up. Again 
he manfully ate his jerked beef. Then he caught 
and saddled his broncho to take up the trail once 
more. 

At first they moved very cautiously; then into 
the natural, swinging lope. The miles went by 
from eight to ten to the hour. About two hours 
before sundown “Calico” acted queerly and J ack 
instinctively felt that they were approaching 
something, and again he reined him from the 
trail. “We don’t follow it this side, Cal,” said 
Jack; “if Captain Kidd’s waitin’ fer us, it’s 
thar.” And this gauntleted hand pointed in the 
direction of the trail. “We’ll hit the river; but 
not near the trail. After dark I’ll locate thar 
camp. We’ve got to move careful, shore, but 
move we must, ’cause we’re jus’ dyin’ for a 
drink.” 

Presently they came upon a little stream run- 
ning in a dried-up river bed. They hurried to 
the water and drank sparingly, and then rested. 
Again J ack ate his beef, while his horse, saddled 
and ready, gnawed the bark from a tree. No 


THE MEETING WITH CAP'N KIDD 63 

one disturbed them. At sundown Jack led his 
horse down for another drink and also took one 
himself. 

When the sunset began to fade on the en- 
circling mountains, and dusk settled in the valley, 
J ack tied his horse near the river bank and made 
ready to find the trail on foot. Soon the chilly 
night air fell and with it the darkness. Jack 
took off his big Mexican spurs, drew a six- 
shooter in each hand, and crept circumspectly in 
the river bed, following the stream toward the 
place where Captain Kidd must have crossed or 
stopped. 

The night was very dark. Sometimes, careful 
as he endeavored to be, Jack’s boot would kick 
a loose stone, and, as the sound seemed much 
greater in the still night air, his hands would 
grip the pistol-handles tightly. After an hour 
of the most patient and trying movements, Jack’s 
wary ears caught the sound of a pack of coyotes 
gathering at a place where food was near at hand 
but just out of reach, and his heart beat fast at 
the thought which flashed into his active brain. 
Not far ahead was a camp! Whose? Was it 
Apache Kidd’s? Jack’s breath came quicker and 
he went forward to ascertain; his body was bent 


64 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


almost on his knees and in this crouching position 
he crawled slowly on; the revolvers cocked and 
ready. After advancing a few hundred yards, 
he saw a small fire burning near the river hank, 
and his movements became more guarded than 
ever. He stopped often to listen and reconnoitre, 
and then he would worm forward. 

Within seventy yards of the camp he suddenly 
halted: he had discovered two forms, near the 
fire, rolled in their blankets and sombreros cov- 
ering their faces. “Where’s the rest of ’em?” 
thought Jack. “Wonder if I’ve crawled into a 
trap?” He scooped a hole in the sand sufficient 
to hide his body and waited, never taking his 
eyes from the camp. 

At last morning broke; but the sleepers did 
not move. J ack sighed. They were apparently 
not in a hurry. “Wish I could have a doze, too,” 
he thought. “Wonder if they’re not hungry?” 

An hour passed. Another and still another; 
but neither Jack nor the forms at the fire stirred. 
As the wind blew in his direction, the lad be- 
lieved he ought to smell the smoke of the fire. 
He peeped over the edge of the hole. “If some 
of ’em ain’t watchin’ me from a tree,” he said 
to himself, “I’m all right here. They’re still 
snoozin’!” 


THE MEETING WITH CAP N KIDD 65 


The sun’s rays found him and warmed his 
chilled body. “It’s past noon,” he thought. “I’m 
gittin’ most starved. They must think I’ve got 
the patience of an Injun!” 

The sun grew hotter and hotter; the sand threw 
back the heat into Jack’s heavy eyes. It was 
hard to keep them open. Soon his head began 
to nod. With an effort he would rouse himself. 
But he finally lost control and fell asleep. 

It was dark when he awoke. At first he could 
not grasp the situation — then it all came back to 
him. He glanced toward the camp: it was dark 
and quiet. As he sprang noiselessly up he cursed 
himself for falling asleep and allowing his cap- 
tives to slip away. A six-shooter in each hand, 
he crawled toward the camp. Nothing stirred; 
nothing moved. But almost before he knew it, 
he came upon two dark forms lying on the 
ground. His weapons clicked! 

“Hands up!” he commanded. 

There was no response. 

“Hands up!” he growled fiercely. He waited 
a second — then fired. To him the shot sounded 
like a cannon on the still night air! Then all 
grew silent again. With a terrible oath, Jack 
sprang up and emptied a six-shooter at the forms. 


66 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“If you’re not dead now, come an’ git me, be- 
cause you ain’t human!” he said. He stooped and 
jerked a blanket from a form — he gazed stu- 
pidly through the darkness. At his feet he felt 
a small pile of brush. He sent it flying in all 
directions with a vicious kick from his boot, and 
jumped upon the other. It was the same! 

“My respects to you, father!” he murmured, 
sinking despairingly on the ground. 

After a while he gathered up the blankets and 
walked in the river bed toward the place where 
he had left “Calico” tied. He soon reached the 
spot, as it did not take the time to return that it 
did to find the outlaw’s camp. He found his 
horse undisturbed and he was greeted with a wel- 
coming neigh. The beast had eaten everything 
within reach and was asking for more. Jack 
took off the heavy saddle and bridle, led the beast 
down to drink, and tied it to a fresh tree; then 
he ate some jerked beef. For about an hour he 
sat thinking. 

“It’s no use,” he muttered. He rolled himself 
in his blankets, pillowed his head on his saddle 
and slept. 

After a hurried meal in the morning, he rode 
across the river to find out if the trail continued, 


THE MEETING WITH CAP’N KIDD 67 

or if it ended at the river. He ascertained that 
it did not cross, so he knew that it was in the 
river. But which way? Water leaves no trail. 

“Well, there’s one thing,” said Jack, “I’ve 
seen Apache Kidd face to face an’ I know what 
kind of a foxy devil I’ve got to deal with!” 

His eye caught a piece of paper attached to 
a broken branch stuck in the sand and he rode 
to the spot. At first he was about to ignore the 
note, but he might get a clew from it, so he 
stooped from the saddle and took it. 

“Dear Child: — I knew you would follow 
me, so I left two men in camp to keep you 
from getting lonesome. They’re both deaf, 
but you’ll get acquainted with them all right. 
Just be patient. I had to leave in a hurry, 
so you may find it hard to find my trail. But 
as a mere suggestion, I would cut myself in 
two if I were you, so one-half could go up 
the river and the other half go down. That 
way will save you time. Or, you go one way 
and your horse the other. But I’ll bet the 
horse will find me before you do. 

“Yours in haste, 

“Father.” 

“He’ll pay for this some day!” Jack burst 
out. 


Chapter VI 


The Pride of Craft 

One night there entered a saloon an old man; 
he took several drinks at the bar, then he in- 
vited the barkeeper to have one. 

“Say, do you know I’m wise?” boasted the old 
man, presently. 

“You bet you are,” the barkeeper purred. 

“You bet I am! I bought the old Morris 
ranch an’ live thar. Lately I’ve been missin’ my 
wood. It wouldn’t do fer an ol’ man like me to 
set up night after night an’ lose so much sleep 
watchin’ fer the thief, so I bored a big hole in a 
piece of fat cottonwood an’ filled it with powder 
— when the galoot puts it in his stove, it’ll blow 
him all to smithereens! Ha! ha! ha! I’ll fix 
him!” 

The barkeep gave him a significant wink. 
“You’re certainly a foxy duck!” 

“Ain’t I?” exclaimed the old man. He turned 
and called to the others lounging about the room. 
“Come on, boys; the drinks are on me!” 

They immediately responded and drank to his 


THE PRIDE OF CRAFT 


69 


health. After which he related to them his “foxy 
trick.” “And so,” he added, “if you should hap- 
pen to hear of anybody being scared to death 
by an explosion ’roun’ here, jus’ let me know, an’ 
I’ll reward you. I’ve got lots of money hidden 
in my ol’ shack — lots of it! I don’t keer ’bout 
losin’ a little wood, boys, but I do hate to be 
robbed. Yes, sir, money’s no object to me — I’ve 
got bushels of it!” 

“I reckon you’re new in these parts, stranger,” 
said one, drawing him aside. 

“Jus’ been here two weeks,” the old man re- 
plied. 

“Well, this is a hard country, an’ I’d be perty 
careful about publishin’ that you’ve got money 
hidden in yore house. OF man Morris was mur- 
dered thar for his. Besides, I kinder think that 
Cap’n Kidd’s hoverin’ ’roun’ here now. He 
killed ol’ Morris.” 

“Say, who are you?” 

“I’m sheriff.” 

“Well, sheriff, if you git the feller who stole 
my wood, I’ll pay you handsomely. I’ve got the 
rocks!” 

“Sh! Not so loud. Don’t you see the boys 
are all watching you? You’d better go home an’ 


70 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


dispose of yore money; it ain’t safe to keep it in 
the house.” 

“Oh, I ain’t afeared, sheriff. I’m a foxy ol’ 
duck, you know!” 

“But you don’t know Cap’n Kidd. He’s 
fooled us all fer years. He’s as foxy as they 
make ’em.” 

“Don’t you worry, sheriff. I’ll bore a hole 
in him, too, an’ fill him with powder!” the old 
man chuckled. “Yes, sir! Cap’n Kidd ain’t no 
match fer me ! I kin take care of myself. Come 
on, boys, have another on me! I’m overburdened 
with money! Here’s the spondoolicks !” taking 
out a large handful of golden five, ten and twenty 
dollar pieces, and scattering them on the bar. 
“Keep the change, ol’ man, I’m flush! Money’s 
a burden to me!” 

The others eyed the coins hungrily. Then 
they again drank to his health. 

“Well, so long, boys!” he said. “Don’t fergit 
about the reward fer that wood thief. I’ve got a 
bank right in my house, an’ I’ll pay you beauti- 
fully. The money’s waitin’ fer the lucky one. 
You jus’ listen fer an explosion. You know I 
bought the ranch of ol’ man Morris of a young 
feller who seemed to be crazy to hunt down this 


THE PRIDE OF CRAFT 


71 


here Apache Kidd an’ he sold the ranch cheap 
because he needed the money to keep him goin’ 
on the trail. I certainly got a good bargain. I 
reckon the young fool will come back some day 
an’ say that I cheated him. Ha ! ha ! ha ! A feller 
don’t git a bargain like that every day. I jus’ 
struck it lucky. An’ I had to pay cash down on 
the spot — but Fve got the cash , boys , Fve got 
the cashr 

The door closed behind him, and the men at the 
bar grinned at each other. Quickly the story 
circulated of the old man’s wealth. 

Two weeks later Jack entered town, and in- 
quired about the old man. 

“Whiskey always makes a fool out of a fel- 
ler!” exclaimed the sheriff to him. “That ol’ 
chump will shore git into trouble. But I warned 
him — the fool!” 

“Mebbe he’s got more whiskey than money,” 
laughed Jack. 

“He’s got money, all right. Perty near every 
night he’s in town spendin’ it like a lord. I be- 
lieve he’s an ol’ prospector who struck it lucky 
an’ don’t know the value of money. But I’m 
afraid somebody else will show him how to keep 
it. It was the death of pore ol’ Morris an’ his 


72 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


wife. I feel shakey ’bout this oY fool. He don’t 
use common sense! The idea of publishin’ such 
temptation in a place like this! Yore ol’ dad was 
close-mouthed, but even he got found out some- 
how. This ol’ feller must be gittin’ childish; 
someone ought to take him in an’ protect him.” 

“Why don’t you? An’ git him to will you all 
his money?” confidentially suggested Jack. 

“I’ll speak to my ol’ woman ’bout it, an’ see 
what she has to say!” 

“Oh, she’ll agree all right; women are always 
ready fer a good thing like that. But mebbe 
you’ll find it a perty hard thing to convince the 
ol’ chap. When you go I’d like to go with you, 
an’ git a look at the ol’ ranch ag’in. Besides, I 
know the old man better than you do, anyway.” 

“Shore. I’ll be much obliged to you if you’ll 
help me out. By the way, have you seen or heard 
anythin’ new of Apache Kidd?” 

“Nothin’ new. I jus’ come in from Squaw 
Peak. Been scoutin’ ’roun’ thar; but I didn’t git 
no encouragement.” 

“That Apache Kidd does beat the Dutch!” 

“An’ every other nationality, too! Here we 
think he’s hidin’ somewhars in the valley an’ to- 
morrow we’re liable to hear of him in Texas or 
New Mexico.” 


THE PRIDE OF CRAFT 


73 


“Or robbin’ that pore ol’ fool on yore dad’s 
ranch.” 

“We’ll go an’ speak to him to-morrow.” 

They rode out to the ranch and found that the 
old man was not at home. 

“How disappointin’!” cried the sheriff. “I’ll 
call ag’in to-morrow.” 

They returned to town, where Jack remained 
several days. Nothing was seen of the old man 
during that time. Jack left town the fourth 
night. On the next day the old man came into 
town and “blowed” more money than ever. The 
deputy sheriff took him to task, whereupon the 
spendthrift asked if this wasn’t a free country. 

“Kain’t an ol’ millionaire spend a few cents?” 
he demanded. 

The crowd opened wide its eyes. Truly, he 
must have “barrels” of gold! But where did 
he keep them? 

The sheriff became extremely worried. He 
heard the old man’s reputation increasing every 
day, and felt afraid that the gold would be too 
much of a temptation for such a reckless commu- 
nity. And he was right. 

One night the old man sat at his kitchen table 
counting some gold. Occasionally he would throw 


74 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


a piece down to ascertain if it was sound, and not 
plugged. His enjoyment was cut short. 

“Hands up, grandpaw!” said a fierce voice be- 
hind him. 

He turned and looked into the muzzle of a big 
six-shooter over whose sights peered savage eyes. 

“Who are you?” the old man timidly de- 
manded. 

“Don’t you know, grandpaw? I’m Apache 
Kidd, at yore service. Give me the eagles an’ 
tell whar the rest’s hid,” 

“I ain’t got no more.” 

“You lie ! Quick, tell me !” 

The old man hesitated. 

“Shall I call my gang an’ have ’em put you on 
a red-hot stove?” 

“No! no!” screamed the old man. “I’ll tell you 
whar it is! It’s down thar.” 

“How do you git down?” 

“Here’s a trap door under the cupboard.” 

“Wal, you go down and fetch up the stuff 
jus’ as fast as you kin move. An’ be shore that 
you fetch it all up, too, or you’ll taste the sweets 
of Apache Kidd in short order. Now, git a rustle 
on you! We don’t want to quarrel with the 
sheriff nor anyone else.” 


THE PRIDE OF CRAFT 


75 


“Oh, don’t take my money, sir,” the old man 
begged. “I’m ole an’ feeble an’ it’s all I have! 
Don’t leave me destitute in my old years!” 

“If thar’s enough fer me down thar, I’ll leave 
you some to squeeze through on. Come, get 
busy!” 

The outlaw followed the old man with catlike 
steps to the cupboard. It was quickly pushed 
aside and the trap-door opened; the old man was 
about to go down when Apache Kidd detained 
him by the arm. “I reckon I’d better have some 
of the boys do that.” He made a low signal and 
four entered immediately. “Seen anythin’ out- 
side?” the chief asked. 

“Nothin’,” one replied. 

Apache Kidd peered down searchingly through 
the trap ; then he told the men what to do. They 
disappeared through the opening and he kept the 
old man covered. But the old man appeared to 
be not the least hostile ; he was bowed in grief. 

Soon one came up from below with a bag of 
gold and the old man uttered a loud cry. 

“Shut up, you fool!” Apache Kidd com- 
manded, watching him warily. Then he called 
through the trap, “Hurry up, you fellers down 
thar! What’s that?” he exclaimed, springing 


76 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


back. “That noise down thar: I heard a groan! 
What’s the trouble down thar?” he asked, cau- 
tiously bending over the opening. 

“I bumped my head,” came up the answer. 

“Well, hurry up ! What takes you so long?” 

“We’ve got it all,” said a voice, approaching 
the trap-door. Then a head appeared. “Here it 
is, Cap’n! It’s heavy! Must be enough here to 
buy the hull United States!” 

Apache Kidd’s eyes sparkled as he gazed 
upon the well-filled canvas bags. 

“Enjoy it while you kin, Father!” said Jack 
Morris, suddenly returning to his natural voice 
and snatching off his disguise. “But it has enticed 
you into a trap!” 

The outlaw started and stared at the speaker 
before him. Then he exclaimed: “So, it’s you!” 
And his revolver almost touched Jack’s heart. 

“Don’t move !” J ack ordered sharply. “You’re 
cornered. Look behind you.” 

From the cellar below came up muffled yells 
and moans. 

Apache Kidd turned and saw what a trap he 
had blundered into. Scarlet with rage, he was 
about to face Jack, when he felt a grip of steel 
close around the hand which held the six-shooter. 


THE PRIDE OF CRAFT 


77 


The outlaw strained to free the hand and the 
weapon went off into the air. Six of Jack’s men 
rushed into the room and quickly the outlaws 
were bound hand and foot and lay helpless on 
the floor. 

Jack heard the cracking of firearms, the gal- 
loping of horses, and he ordered his men to join 
the pursuit. 

As his men hurried out, breathing hard with 
the excitement of the coming chase, Jack closed 
the trap-door and pulled the cupboard over it. 
When he was alone he walked to Apache Kidd’s 
side. “Wasn’t it a great idea, father?” he taunted. 
“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t hit yore trail 
— I broke that word, but I couldn’t help it. You 
fooled me perty slick, though, an’ so I thought 
I’d make you come to me. I found a big sum of 
gold hidden here by old man Morris — for which 
you murdered him — an’ that same gold baited 
you here ! I did very well what I had planned to 
do: have the news spread of a rich ol’ fool livin’ 
here, an’ you heard of it an’ bit!” 

“You are the pride of craft , boy!” Apache 
Kidd exclaimed. “A few years has changed you 
a lot. I was a fool to let you go that time. I 


78 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


realized somethin’ of this — but I couldn’t find a 
heart to kill you, bad as I was.” 

“I’m a-goin’ to pay you back. As you gave 
me a chance fer my life, I’ll give you a chance fer 
yores.” 

“Will you, boy? Jus’ put me on a bronc with- 
out a saddle or a bridle — I don’t even ask fer a 
‘gun’ — tie my arms behind my back an’ give me 
a hundred yards start an’ I’ll bless you! Jus’ 
give me a chance!” 

Jack turned away with disgust. Then he faced 
the outlaw — “Not that kind. You’ll have to take 
yore chance with the law.” 

“With the law! You’ll never git me to town, 
boy; they’ll lynch me first.” 

“You’re right; we’ve got to hurry. They’re 
chasin’ yore band now, but they’ll soon be back.” 
Jack stooped, cut the rope which bound the cap- 
tain’s legs and helped him to his feet. He did 
likewise to the other prisoners. 

“Now, walk ahead,” Jack ordered. “If you 
try to play any games, yore life will be the forfeit. 
We’ll pay the sheriff a visit. Keep away from any 
trail as much as possible, as we don’t care to meet 
anybody this night. But don’t fergit thar’s a 


THE PRIDE OF CRAFT 


79 


pair o’ ‘guns’ at yore back all the time, an’ a fel- 
ler who knows how to use ’em.” 

At first they moved cautiously away from the 
house for fear of being discovered, which would 
have meant certain death. But as Jack heard no 
cause for alarm he pushed his prisoners forward 
at a fast gait. Finally they arrived in town, and 
J ack proudly announced to the astonished sheriff: 
“Here’s Cap’n Kidd. Git him in jail as fast as 
you kin an’ guard him carefully. You’re liable 
to hear from the boys soon.” The prisoners were 
lodged safely. “I reckon that’ll keep ’em fer a 
time,” said Jack. “You watch ’em now, an’ I’ll 
be back soon.” 

Jack hurried back to the ranch, where he found 
two men who had returned from the pursuit. 
One was bandaging a bullet wound, while the 
other stood guard at the door. He admitted Jack 
after receiving the signal. 

“Whar’s the others?” Jack asked. 

“Haven’t showed up yet. We haven’t heard 
any more shots fer quite a spell, an’ I reckon the 
boys will soon be in. Whar’s Apache Kidd? You 
know? He wasn’t here when we entered.” 

“I took him to the sheriff,” Jack replied. 


80 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“You did!” the wounded one exclaimed. “Why 
didn’t you lynch him?” 

“Because he onct gave me a chance fer my life 
an’ now I’ve paid him back.” 

“The fellers will be rippin’ mad; thar mouths 
are jus’ waterin’ to lynch him! You’ll be jumped 
on perty hard, Jack.” 

“I’d like to know who landed the fish.” 

“Jus’ the same, you’ll be raked over the coals.” 

“Well, I don’t care to be mixed up in this mess 
any more an’ I’ll jus’ light out. It’ll be perty 
hard to convince some of the boys jus’ why I gave 
my father a chance. So you tell ’em to divide the 
gold. I appreciate yore services very much, an’ I 
shall always think of you in his deal. So long, 
boys!” 

He went out, mounted his horse and loped 
away, followed by the indignation of his men! 
But it was readily lost in oblivion, as his reputa- 
tion quickly spread for miles and miles around. 


Chapter VII 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER GUN 

The proprietor of the hardware store at Skull 
Valley, Arizona, was sitting at his desk, looking 
over an old ledger, when Jim entered. 

Jim was tall, slim and light of frame, but very 
wiry from hard work upon the range, which left 
not an ounce of surplus flesh. His action was 
easy and quick; graceful in his own dignified 
way. Low down on his right hip there rested a 
big single-action revolver, with its holster tied to 
the “chaps,” so that the “gun” would come out 
smoothly when Jim needed it in a hurry. 

“Howdy, Talby?” said he. “How’re you 
feelin’?” 

“Same as usual,” replied the proprietor, rub- 
bing his eyes. “A feller with a dead liver ain’t 
no account nohow; he can’t never see nothin’ in 
life. An ol’ mossback like me ought to quit work 
anyhow. But what’s a feller to do? Can’t sit 
’round’ an’ do nothin’.” 

“You ought to git out an’ take some exercise,” 
suggested Jim. 


82 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Don’t do no good to git out an’ walk if you 
ain’t got no place to walk to — I mean if you walk 
jus’ fer walk’s sake, I can’t see no great benefit. 
Now, ef you walk with some end in view — say, to 
collect a bill, I always feel as though I’ve got 
somethin’ to walk fer. Hain’t thet right?” 

“Shore. Say, Talby, I’ve got a bronc. across 
the street I’ll bet kin wake up yore dead liver! 
Come over an’ try him.” 

“Too busy, Jim; too busy jus’ now.” 

“All right, Talby, some other time. Say, 
how’re ‘guns’ sellin’? Cheap?” 

“Wall, iron’s got up a little; but I’ll sell you a 
good ‘gun’ perty reason’ble.” 

“Let me see that one,” said Jim, pointing to a 
.45-calibre six-shooter in the showcase. 

“She’s a beaut!” said Talbert, handing over the 
revolver. “Guaranteed to kill an elephant, an’ 
she’ll tear a hole big ’nough to bury a mule 
in! You see that ‘gun’?” he asked, pointing to an- 
other one in the case. “That ol’ blunderbuss kicks 
worse than an ol’ woman. This one in yore han’ 
shoots as easy as a cap-pistol, but when she hits, 
she hits as hard as a sledge-hammer ! Why, Jim, 
she’ll sink a warship without half tryin’ !” 

“Thought you had a dead liver,” Jim smiled. 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER GUN 


83 


“Yes, but I’m only exercisin’ a little. If you 
want a good ‘gun,’ there it is.” 

“I want one that will shore go off.” 

“When you set this a-goin’, the air will be full 
of lead! Look at thet barrel, Jim — eight inches 
of the fines’ steel you ever seen. An’ thet sight, 
by gosh ! when you squints over thet, somethin’s 
got to fall.” 

“How much is she?” 

“Twenty dollars.” 

“I’ll take her. Guess I’ll have you take out 
the trigger, Talby; when I puts in my six shots 
I don’t want no trigger to bother me.” 

“I wouldn’t remove the trigger, but jus’ tie it 
back; then you kin have it when you want it for 
ordinary shootin’. Here’s a belt thet will hoi’ 
yore bullets like a mother hoi’s her babe. Want 
some cartridges to fill it?” 

“Shore; give me a box. Never min’ wrappin’ 
’em up. I’m goin’ to wear the belt — stick in the 
pills.” 

“Is thet all you want?” 

Jim scratched his head, then replied: “Let me 
see a hat.” Talbert scrambled for the hats. 

“Here’s a beaut,” he said, holding up a broad- 
brimmed one. “Lates’ style, fine material, an’ 


84 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


it’ll fit you like an eggshell. Thar’s a lookin’- 
glass over thar; go an’ see yoreself.” 

Jim tried on the hat before the glass, turning 
this way and that way, surveying himself from 
different positions. 

“How much?” he asked. 

“Ten dollars. She’s a genuine Stetson!” 

“Looks fine,” said Jim. “I’ll take it.” 

“Better git a pair o’ gauntlets to match the 
hat. Thar’s a pair for five dollars. Genuine 
buckskin. They’re all right.” 

“All right; I’ll wear ’em! A feller kain’t look 
too good at his funeral!” 

“Anythin’ else? How are you fixed in shirts?” 

“Say, Talby, I’ve come in here to buy a ‘gun,’ 
an’ now, look at me — they’ll think I’m doin’ my 
Christmas shoppin’.” 

A chorus of whoops and yells and scattering 
shots, closely followed by shots fired in quick suc- 
cession, was heard. Down the dusty street swiftly 
rode a band of cowboys. Heated with liquor, fir- 
ing and screaming and urging on their maddened 
ponies with shouts, spurs and quirts, they swept 
by the store. 

“Hain’t no use to monkey with the devil when 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER GUN 


85 


he’s got whiskey in him,” said Talbert; “whiskey 
ain’t no respecter o’ persons.” 

“That shore’s a crazy bunch,” Jim declared. 

“Jim,” said Talbert, “the feller who is respon- 
sible fer such goin’s-on wants to merry my dar- 
ter. The ol’ woman an’ me have scolded Kate an’ 
begged an’ even threatened her, but she sticks by 
thet saloon-keeper! I’ve driven him from my 
house, but she meets him.” 

“I know, Talby, she won’t look at us common 
fellers ; we haven’t any show. Last night he saw 
me talkin’ to Kate an’ he said he’d fix me. That’s 
why I’m buyin’ this extra ‘gun’.” 

“The idea,” said Talbert, “that Kate should 
want to merry sech a feller. She’s had fine 
chances, but she almost insults any other chap 
who comes to see her. Jim, I’m gittin’ ol’ an’ 
want to retire ; us ol’ mossbacks can’t keep a-goin’ 
forever. I thought if Kate would merry some 
decent feller I’d take him right in with me and 
learn him the business; then I’d step out an’ let 
him run it. There’s a fine chance fer a worthy 
feller. I can’t understand why she wants a sa- 
loon-keeper. I’m afraid of him. He treats her 
lovely, buys her everything an’ she thinks he’s 
fine! Thet’s before marriage; what’ll it be after, 


86 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


the Lord only knows ! The o V woman can’t take 
the same interest in the house as she used to do 
when she was a gal. She likes to rest an’ Kate 
gits col’ meat fer us ; but when her Reddy used to 
come over, out would come kettles an’ pans — 
nothin’ too good fer ’im. Wish I was young 
ag’inl” 

“Mebbe I’ll save you the trouble.” 

“When you come in I was lookin’ over Reddy’s 
account. He’s owed me forty-seven dollars an’ 
fifty-five cents fer two years an’ four months. 
I’ve asked him to come over tonight, an’ if he 
don’t squar’ thet account I’ll post him to-morrow 
mornin’ on the town squar’ in big letters. If my 
darter wants to merry a bankrupt, she kin an’ 
be sorry.” 

A customer came in and Talbert promptly 
paid him attention. When the proprietor re- 
turned to Jim, the latter had slung his new belt 
and holster around his waist. The new revolver 
was ready for use, resting securely on the left 
thigh. The old and tried revolver likewise hung 
on the right thigh. 

“Talby, you wouldn’t mind havin’ me help you 
in the deal, would you?” asked Jim. 

“Tell you what, Jim, you hide behin’ the 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER GUN 


87 


counter, an’ when he comes in you ldn be ready 
to help me. When I ask fer the money he’ll fool 
’roun’, makin’ excuses; then I’ll sail into him an’ 
tell him he’s got to leave my darter alone. He’ll 
git rippin’ mad, an’ then I’ll tell him what I think 
of him. He may try violence. You’ll be on han’ 
an’ we’ll throw thet monkey out into the street!” 

“He! he! he! Talby; thought you had a dead 
liver — he! he! Think of the exercise!” Jim 
laughed. 

“By jingo! my oY liver’s wakin’ up an’ I feel 
the moss already flyin’!” and Talbert chuckled 
with the thought of the forthcoming excitement. 

At this moment Kate entered the store. 

“Good evenin’, Miss Kate,” said Jim, taking 
off his sombrero. 

“Hello, Jim,” she replied, passing him with 
hardly a glance. “Dad, where kin I fin’ ” 

“Kate, why don’t you speak to Jim? You 
hardly gave him a pleasant look.” 

“Does Jim want me to stan’ an’ grin at him?” 

“Kate,” Jim interrupted, “you know what yore 
dad means. You know what I mean. You look 
at nobody but Reddy. Us fellers what calls on 
you like to be treated decent. You’re jus’ a- 


88 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


breakin’ yore ol’ dad’s heart by keepin’ company 
with Reddy!” 

“How does that concern you?” she flashed. 

“ ’Caus’ I hate to see you hoodooed. Kate, 
you’re jus’ natcherally locoed over that feller. 
He’s foolin’ you. You know I love you, an’ 
’cause I do love you I’m goin’ to tell you some- 
thin’ in the presence of yore dad.” 

“I don’t want to hear it, an’ I won’t hear it,” 
she said. “You are all against him, an’ I won’t 
listen to you.” 

“Kate,” said her father. “Come here. I want 
you to listen to Jim. He has somethin’ fer you 
to hear, an’ he never speaks unless the matter is 
very important. Go ahead, Jim.” 

“Dad, I’ll stop my ears — I’ll run away. You 
can’t treat me this way. I’ll merry the man I 
love, an’ that’s Reddy!” 

“Very well, Kate,” said Jim, “you kin merry 
him — but no man kin love two wives.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked in a dazed 
way. 

“I mean, Kate, that this yer Reddy is no good; 
he’s a merried man!” 

“You don’t say so!” Talbert exclaimed. 

“Las’ night I tol’ him that he wasn’t fit to 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER GUN 


80 


merry the devil/’ said Jim. “I tol’ him that he 
was a merried man, an’ I was a-goin’ to tell Kate. 
He threatened to kill me, if I did — that’s why 
I’m wearin’ these ‘guns.’ The triggers are tied 
back, an’ Reddy better watch out, ’cause I’m 
a-goin’ to shoot to kill!” 

Kate left the room without another word. 

“Poor gal,” said Talbert, “she’s be’n tricked. 
Jim, you didn’t tell her a lie jus’ to put her 
against Reddy?” 

“I only tol’ her the truth, Talby, jus’ to save 
her from that dog! He ought to be lynched ! I’d 
like to git a rope ’roun’ his neck an’ drag him 
behind my bronc — I’d drag him as low as he’d 
like to drag Kate!” 

“Jus’ think of her lovin’ that whiskey barrel! 
I don’t believe in makin’ yore children merry 
yore choice, but I do believe thet they ought to 
listen to you. When you’re in love you can’t see 
any faults, so you ought to reason with someone 
else. I wasn’t ’gainst Reddy jus’ ’cause he sold 
whiskey, but I always felt that he was a scoundrel. 
Of course, he had winnin’ ways with him, an’ 
he’s good-lookin’, an’ he’s spent considerable 
money on her, an’ Kate’s fell head over heels in 
love with ’im. Now, she’s foun’ out what he is.” 


90 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Yes, an’ I s’pose she’ll think all men are the 
same. She kin think it of me, fer all I care. I’ve 
spoilt Reddy’s little game, an’ he kin fight it out 
with me.” 

“Be keerful, Jim; he’s a tough customer.” 

“Not so tough that a .45 can’t break his hide.” 
Jim took the new revolver from its holster, 
twirled the cylinder, made sure that every cham- 
ber was filled, and tried the action of the hammer. 
“She’s a fine ‘gun,’ Talby; works like a clock. 
Reddy may be able to throw whiskey bottles in 
his barroom, but when he’s in front of this, lookin’ 
down the throat — ” 

“We don’t want no killin’ if we kin avoid it; 
but if Reddy pulls his ‘guns,’ Jim, you’d better 
git busy in a hurry!” 

Jim had almost put the new revolver back in 
its holster (his position was that of one about to 
draw) when the front doorway was filled by a 
huge form. From the slouchy, broad-brimmed 
hat red curls fell almost to the massive shoulders, 
and dark eyes glared like coals of fire. The 
high-heeled boots, heavy shirt and loosely knotted 
kerchief at the throat gave to the wearer a grace- 
ful appearance. This was the man who had 
fooled Kate! 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER GUN 


91 


Without a word Reddy and Jim jerked loose 
their “guns” and went at it! When the people 
rushed into the smoky room, Reddy lay on his 
face and Jim was dizzily supporting himself on 
his elbow. Four big six-shooters were on the 
floor, with blackened chambers. The weapons 
had been in the hands of experts, and they had 
used them with terrible effect! 

“Whar’s the sheriff?” asked one. “Somebody 
go fer him.” 

“Dad, you’re hurt!” cried Kate, bursting into 
the room pale with excitement. 

“No, Kate,” said Talby. “Tell yer what, the 
a’r was plumb full o’ lead! Hullo! somebudy’s 
hurt?” 

“I’m done fer, Talby,” said Jim. “I’m shot,” 
and he sank back with a groan. 

“Jim,” cried Kate, kneeling by him in deep 
remorse, and catching up his head in her arms, 
“I’m the cause of this!” 

“Kate,” he said, opening his eyes and looking 
at her, “I couldn’t let that red devil merry you.” 

“I didn’t know,” she said. “I didn’t know, 
Jim; I’m so young! Thought I knew more than 
my ol’ daddy — I believed Reddy — but he fooled 
me, Jim! I believed him, Jim! He spoke so 


92 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


good to me! Oh! Jim, if I could only die!” and 
she buried her face in Jim’s breast. 

“Come, Kate,” said her father, “Jim’s badly 
hurt an’ you’re pressin’ him. Some of you fel- 
lers carry him in the next room.” 

“What’ll we do with Reddy?” asked one. 

“Take him out an’ hang him to the firs’ pole 
you kin find!” said Talbert. 

“What’s all this?” demanded the sheriff, en- 
tering. 

“A little shootin’ scrape,” replied a bystander. 

“Why, it’s Reddy an’ Jim,” said the sheriff. 
“Who started it?” 

“I started it,” said Kate. 

“You!” the sheriff exclaimed. “How?” 

“He broke my heart!” Kate cried, pointing at 
Reddy. “Jim fought him. Wish I was dead!” 
she sobbed. 

Jim managed to lift his arm and put it around 
her neck. His strength was going fast. 

“Kate,” he said, “I love you, gal. Don’t cry, 
’cause I won’t be with you long.” 

“Jim,” she said, “you ain’t dyin’?” 

“ ’Fraid I am; I’m gittin’ so weak.” 

“Jim, how kin I live without you?” 

“There’s a ring on my finger — take it off an' 


JIM BUYS ANOTHER OUN 


93 


wear it. If any man asks you to merry him an’ 
doubts yore good name, show him the ring an’ 
tell him I loved you! If he’s a man, he’ll merry 
you.” 

Jim lived only a few days. Kate stayed with 
him night and day and when they laid him to 
rest, she threw herself upon his grave and cried 
as if her heart would break. She visited the spot 
every day for a week. Then one night she did 
not return home. 


Chapter VIII 


AT THE WATERHOLE 

When Harry Western accepted the job of 
drive cook, he knew he would be monarch of all 
he surveyed. The cowpunchers had no shelter 
but their heavy blankets ; the cook had his wagon 
in which he slept, protected from the winds and 
the storms, and he slept alone. 

In some cases, a cook’s art being criticised, he 
immediately resented the insult with his six- 
shooter and so added a notch on its handle. But 
Harry had no such trouble, because he could 
cook. 

One morning he peered out through the can- 
vas folds of the cook- wagon into the coming day; 
the sweeping breeze of the plains brushed cool 
and fresh against his face. On the ground lay 
dark forms of sleeping men. The cook got down 
and soon made a fire, over which hung an iron 
kettle. Then he unfastened the cover of the 
“chuck-box” at the back of his wagon and had a 
table and pantry at hand with flour and meat 
and other necessities. Pots and pans, knives and 


AT THE WATERHOLE 


05 


forks, tin dishes and cups came rattling out and 
the table was set without cloth on the dusty, hoof- 
beaten soil. 

Dark figures moved about the camp — some 
unrolling from their blankets, others carrying 
their blankets to a wagon, while a few were hur- 
riedly washing in pails. 

In a short time breakfast was served. The 
men ate heartily, talking between mouthfuls, and 
were soon ready for work. The tin cups and the 
plates were tossed in a heap near the fire as the 
men finished their meal. Then the stillness of 
the morning was broken by whistling “ropes” 
mid horses trying to escape, and the shouts and 
laughter of the men capturing them. The horses 
had been rounded-up by the “wrangler” before 
breakfast, and now they crowded and crushed in 
the small rope corral. But they could not escape. 
Each man’s “rope” picked out a mount, and the 
sulky beast was quickly saddled. The bronchos 
pitched at first, but were soon brought under sub- 
mission. 

The night herders were relieved and they hur- 
ried to breakfast. As Harry approached with 
some coffee, he heard one ask, “Hear anythin’ 
on yore side las’ night?” 


96 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

“Nuthin’ unusual/’ replied the other. 

“Well, somethin’ was monkeyin’ on mine. 
Don’t know whether it was any trouble or not, 
but it kept me guessin’. More than once I clicked 
my ‘gun’ just to warn ’em I was wise. By jinks, 
it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if we run into 
Apache Kidd this trip!” declared the first. 

“Apache Kidd?” asked Harry. “I thought 
they got him.” 

“They did; but he got away ag’in.” 

“Got away? An’ how?” 

“Why, a gang of fellers tried to take him from 
jail an’ lynch him the same night. Everybody, 
includin’ the sheriff, had gone to bed when they 
rode up. Apache Kidd heard ’em an’ was ready. 
When they broke open his door, it only left 
enough room fer one man at a time to enter, an’ 
as the leader jumped in with a ‘gun’ in each hand 
yellin’ fer him to come on, Apache Kidd hit him 
from behind the door a terrible blow on the chin 
with his fist an’ the feller dropped like a log! 
Apache Kidd grabbed a ‘gun’ an’ waited; they 
couldn’t see him, nor could they hit him behind 
the iron door, but he could see them because they 
had lanterns. Keepin’ the openin’ covered, he 
slowly drew the feller to him an’ got his other 


AT THE WATERHOLE 


97 


‘gun’ an’ his cartridge belt. He was in fine shape 
now, an’ he begun to tantalize ’em. 

“ ‘Why don’t you come in?’ he says. ‘I’m 
only one ag’in a hundred. I kin only kill one at 
a time. Thar’s only twelve bullets in yore 
friend’s ‘guns’ — thanks to him — an’ after I kill 
the first twelve, you ought to git me afore I load 
up ag’in. Come on, boys; who’s a-goin’ to be 
the first an’ the second an’ the third, etc. ? Hurry 
up, afore the sheriff finds out an’ scares you 
away!’ 

“But they couldn’t enter. Not one had the 
nerve to, an’ he held ’em off till the sheriff an’ 
the law-abidin’ citizens chased ’em away. In the 
excitement of it all Apache Kidd sneaked out, 
jumped on somebody’s hoss an’ escaped.” 

“You don’t say so!” Harry exclaimed. 

“Yes, sir, he escaped. That Jack Morris was 
a perty smart kid to capture the bandit the way 
he done — but he certainly did a fool thing to 
give him up to the sheriff! Apache Kidd ought 
to ’ve be’n lynched on the spot an’ done away 
with. As it was, he was given a chanct an’ he 
took it.” 

“What become of Jack Morris?” Harry in- 
quired. 


98 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Oh, he skipped out, you bettcher life! He 
didn’t want to make explanations.” 

“Wasn’t Apache Kidd his father?” 

“He must ’ve be’n something, or Jack wouldn’t 
’ve done such a fool thing! Yet, it must be a 
perty hard thing fer Jack to lynch his own father, 
an’ I reckon he done the best he could. Jack was 
on the squar’ all right, everybody acknowledged 
that. But at the same time, everybody called 
him a fool.” 

“I’ve heard that Jack kin shoot some,” re- 
marked one of the herders. 

“Shoot!” exclaimed the first. “Well, I guess! 
He kin shoot some an’ some ag’in! Shootin’s jus’ 
as easy fer him as it is fer Harry, here, to make 
good coffee. Why, I’ve seen Jack tie a bottle up 
with the neck downward, an’ the cork right under 
the mouth, an’ he’d cut that string with his six- 
shooter standin’ as far away as his eyes could see, 
an’ the bottle would fall on the cork an’ pick it 
up as nice as anybody could cork a bottle. Yes, 
sir! The trick is original, an’ if you want to 
savvy the difficulty of the execution, just you try 
it ! But you’d better try it by yore lonesome first, 
or yore friends will have the laugh on you.” 

After a short pause Harry said: “I kain’t just 


AT THE WATERHOLE 


90 


savvy how Apache Kidd could escape with so 
many around.” 

“You kain’t?” asked the first herder. “Well, 
you see, them fellers wanted him awful bad an’ 
when the sheriff objected they had a leetle argu- 
ment an’ bullets flew thicker ’n hail. I reckon 
Apache Kidd put in a few fer the sheriff, too. 
And durin’ the fusillade he dug out in a big 
hurry. When the sheriff drove off the lynchers, 
he discovered that his bird had flew the coop. 
Then he turned his ‘gun’ on himself an’ well, — 
Give me another cup of coffee, Kid, it certainly 
touches the right spot!” 

Harry poured the coffee and sat down to eat. 
The meal was soon finished and he hurriedly 
washed the dishes. 

“That’s right, Kid,” said the first herder; “git 
a rustle on you; we mus’ ketch up with the fellers 
as soon as possible: no tellin’ how many Injuns 
are sneakin’ ’roun’.” And the speaker swept the 
horizon with a glance. “Say!” he exclaimed, 
“what’s that leetle cloud of dust over thar?” He 
pointed toward the mountains in the south. 

The little band watched it intently. 

“The wind ain’t makin’ it,” said the fourth 
herder, presently. “It ain’t no ‘sky devil’.” 


100 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I think I see hosses,” said the third. 

“The joke is,” said the first, “who’s on ’em? 
I reckon we’d better be prepared anyway. Each 
one better have a bronc saddled. One pack hoss 
will do fer us all.” 

In a short time everything was ready and they 
waited the approach. The dust cloud grew 
heavier. 

“Injuns!” exclaimed Harry. 

“You’re right, Kid,” replied the first herder. 
“To the waterhole, boys!” 

A moment later the little band crouched in the 
hole and six Winchesters pointed defiantly over 
the edge, commanding all sides. When the 
Indians came within rifle range of the pit, their 
chief left them and rode parallel with it. About 
fifty yards behind him an Indian followed ; about 
fifty yards behind the second another Indian 
rode, and behind him at the same distance fol- 
lowed another, and so on till the entire band was 
stretched out in a long line. The chief drew in 
a little toward the pit — followed by the band — 
till he had ridden around it. Then around they 
rode again, a little faster and drawing nearer. 
Again they rode around. And again, and again, 
each time drawing closer. Presently they rode 


AT THE WATERHOLE 


101 


the circle within range of the pit and opened fire. 

“Don’t shoot,” commanded the first herder. 
“We mustn’t waste our bullets. Wait till they 
come nearer. I reckon thar’s white men amongst 
’em — if they are dressed in Injun’s clothes. Look 
at thar chief now! Did you ever see an Injun 
ride that-a-way? Look at that third feller back. 
He’s an Injun shore — he’s usin’ his legs to hold 
on his pony.” 

Slowly the circle drew in and bullets whistled 
overhead the pit or kicked the dust in front and 
behind. Often the cowboys sighted their Win- 
chesters and measured the distance. 

“I reckon it’s about time, Kid,” said the leader, 
“to git thar range. Jus’ see if you kin call thar 
attention.” 

Harry carefully sighted his weapon and fired. 
There was a second’s expectancy. Then the 
chief’s horse seemed to stagger. 

“By jinks, Kid!” cried the leader, “you’ve hit! 
You’ve hit! Bully fer you, Kid!” 

The wounded horse stumbled and fell. Had 
not its rider been watchful, he would have been 
crushed. With an effort the chief steadied him- 
self and shook his rifle at the pit. It was Cap’n 
Kidd! 


102 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


He was answered with a triumphant yell from 
the waterhole. 

One of the Indians gave his pony to Cap’n 
Kidd, and with wild, discordant, high-keyed cries 
the entire band continued the circle, firing as fast 
as they could load. 

For nearly six hours the pit kept them at bay. 

“Got any bullets, Ford?” called one of the 
herders. 

“Not more than six,” the leader replied through 
his teeth. He turned again with his hot Win- 
chester cocked and resting almost on the ground 
and he gazed fiercely at the circling figures. 

Harry Western lay near him, his elbows rest- 
ing on the soil to steady his aim. Methodically 
the sights picked out a mark on a living object 
in the distance; he was in the act of pulling the 
trigger when he uttered a sharp cry and sank 
down. 

“What’s the matter, Kid?” asked the leader, 
turning. “Ah! the pore kid’s shot! Well, boy, 
you’re better off than us!” 

He crept over and took off Harry’s cartridge 
belt. Then he knelt, peeped over the edge, 
gritted his teeth and fired. With a savage yell 
he noted that his bullet had struck home! 


AT THE WATERHOLE 


103 


Ten minutes later one of the cowboys uttered 
a gladsome cry: “They’re cornin’! They’re 
cornin’ !” 

The others turned their blood-shot eyes, fol- 
lowed the direction of his finger and saw a large 
cloud of dust rise above a band of galloping 
figures. 

The Indians, too, discovered the party coming, 
and with a few scattering shots they broke and 
fled. 

When the cook outfit had failed to catch up 
with the drive, the boss felt uneasy and so sent 
one of his men in quest, and he dashed back with 
the news that he heard continued firing in the 
direction of the waterhole. Immediately the men 
rode to the rescue. 

Everyone in the pit had suffered from one or 
more wounds. 

“Is the kid dead?” asked the boss. 

“I dunno. He hasn’t moved since he was hit.” 

The boss and the first herder walked over to 
where Harry lay. The boss stooped and felt his 
pulse. 

“He ain’t dead,” said he, and opened Harry’s 
shirt to find the wound. “By gosh!” he cried, ris- 
ing, “he’s a woman!” 


104 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


They stared at each ether in amazement. 

“Shore, he's a woman !" said the other, after a 
silence. “I wonder why?” 

But they did not find out the reason, nor that 
her right name was Kate Talbert. When she re- 
covered, she left Arizona. 


PART III 


The Passing of the Six-Shooteb 










Chapter IX 


“Inspiration is Blind” 

The sun was sinking beneath the western 
horizon as Jack Morris rode his wiry broncho 
over the plains of New Mexico. He hummed a 
merry tune, keeping company with his thoughts, 
which must have been pleasant, judging by his 
song. Now and then his horse turned hack its 
ears to listen more attentively, and nodded his 
head to show his appreciation of his master’s 
efforts. 

Jack sat straight up in his heavy saddle, his 
body motionless except through the swinging lope 
of his broncho. The plainsman and his horse 
were a model for some great artist, whose in- 
spired brush would have painted these hardy 
creatures in colors that would have spoken 
volumes. 

Jack’s song in time reached its climax, the final 
note made the broncho shake its head, and the 
singer laughed. What was the cause ? He could 
not have told you. He had had many ups and 


108 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


downs; but to-day his heart was light, and 
Wagon Mound was many miles behind. 

Very soon the Cimarron River appeared in the 
distance, and the rider’s heart gladdened at the 
welcome sight. “Calico” quickened his pace, for 
he knew that water, food and rest awaited him. 

The travelers approached the river like old 
friends. “Calico” was enjoying a cooling 
draught, and Jack was bathing his dusty face — 
when a shriek was borne across the water by the 
evening breeze! The plainsman jumped to his 
feet, looking intently toward the direction from 
which the sound came. “Calico” raised his head 
and laid back his ears — again, that terrible cry! 

A horse struggling in the quicksand greeted 
Jack’s straining eyes. Scanning the spot more 
keenly, he saw a hand waving frantically in the 
air, and he sprang into the saddle without using 
the stirrups, as “Calico” leaped to the rescue, 
knowing by the actions of his master that there 
must be no delay. On, on they dashed! Arriv- 
ing nearly abreast of the slowly sinking victim, 
Jack dismounted and cast his “rope.” “Put it 
under yore arms,” he called. “Hold on tight,” 
he continued, wheeling “Calico.” The “rope” 
straightened, and its burden slowly but surely 


INSPIRATION IS BLIND 


109 


answered the strain. J ack dismounted, drew the 
young woman to the bank and helped her to reach 
a place of safety. 

“Are you — ?” he began. But he was cut short 
by a wild neigh coming again from the sinking 
horse. 

“Poor Lem!” she cried, “poor, poor Lem!” 
The beast gave a snort of rage and despair, as 
the horrible trap slowly swallowed him from 
sight. “Oh, it’s awful!” the owner exclaimed, 
covering her eyes. “Poor Lem — poor fellow!” 

They stood silently watching the spot; it had 
engulfed its prey, shut its greedy mouth, and 
the river flowed placidly onward, waiting for the 
next one that might venture that way. 

At last Jack was aroused by “Calico,” who 
rubbed his nose against his master’s arm, as if to 
praise him for his timely rescue. 

“Awful, Cal, awful!” Jack said, misunder- 
standing the dumb beast’s actions. 

“Yes,” the girl cried, with a shudder. She 
was thinking how near the fate had been her 
own! 

Jack saw her shiver, and said: “Pardon, Miss, 
but the night’s chilly an’ you’re wet. Let me take 
you to some place of warmth.” 


110 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


He untied the blanket from the cantle of his 
saddle and wrapped it about her shivering form. 
Her eyes thanked him more than words could 
have done as he helped her to mount “Calico.” 

A mile further up they found a safe place to 
cross, forded the river and continued over the 
plains. For a time silence reigned between them, 
but as the distance grew and the river was put 
far behind, the woman warmed into conversa- 
tion. 

“I suppose,” she said, “you wonder how it hap- 
pened.” 

“Wouldn’t min’ knowin’,” Jack said. 

“It was an inspiration,” she replied. “Did you 
ever get an inspiration?” 

“H’m — a gal once inspired — ” 

“Oh, I don’t mean that kind of an inspiration,” 
she interrupted. “Did you ever become inspired 
through your work? So interested that you knew 
nothing of what was going on around you?” 

“I have been so interested in ropin’ a cow that 
I didn’t see the gopher hole an’ suddenly awak- 
ened in the dust. Felt like an ol’ rooster takin’ 
his dust bath!” smiled Jack. 

“That was an odd inspiration!” 

“Ha! ha!” he laughed, “guess you’ve got the 


INSPIRATION IS BLIND 


111 


drop on me in the inspiration line ; when it comes 
to hosses, cows, ropes, saddles and guns, I kin 
say a few.” 

They were interrupted by “Calico” who 
turned his head to his master as much as to say, 
“It’s a long time since you’ve spoken to me.” 

Jack patted the animal’s neck, and said: 
“Never mind, oP boy, it’s all in a life-time; thar’s 
plenty of time — plenty of time!” 

“You are kind to your horse,” she smiled, ad- 
miringly, knowing that a horse was treated with 
little kindness on the plains. 

“He’s my bes’ friend — except Hank. He 
works on the Maxwell Ranch.” 

“Oh, then you’re Jack Morris! Hank has 
often spoken of you.” She added: “I hope you 
will henceforth consider me your friend, and if 
you ever need assistance, call on May Maxwell.” 

“Well! — struck it perty lucky! I was goin’ to 
Colonel Pierre Maxwell’s ranch to git a job.” 

“Then you shall have it.” 

“Heard he was a fine feller to work fer, an’ 
thought I’d try to git a place on his ranch. I’m 
lucky!” 

“You forget that to you I owe my life,” she 
said. 


112 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Miss Maxwell,” said Jack, “us rough fellers 
don’t care fer anythin’; but even the meanest is 
proud to feel the frien’ship of a good woman!” 

She gave him a grateful look and as he met her 
gaze his heart throbbed; over him came stealing 
thoughts of the comforts of a home — even the 
wildest beast has its den, and the longing for a 
companion. With new interest awakened they 
looked at each other in silence; each felt an in- 
ward happiness, that neither could explain. 

The silence would have become embarrassing 
had it continued much longer, but “Calico” again 
came to the rescue and neighed. 

“Thar’s the lights of a town,” Jack said. “Cal 
sees ’em; he always neighs cornin’ in.” 

“That is Maxwell City,” said May. “We will 
soon be home. What a home-coming!” 

Once more “Calico” blew his trumpet. 

“Well, well, Cal, hoi’ yore hosses, you crazy! 
We’re gittin’ thar as fast as we kin!” 

“That is the way I talked to poor Lem,” May 
sighed. “How could I have been so careless! I 
ought to have noticed that the river had formed 
quicksand — but for you, my inspiration would 
have proved fatal.” He saw her shudder and 
wishing to divert her mind from the incident, said, 


INSPIRATION IS BLIND 


113 


“I’ve a curiosity to ask what could have inspired 
you so, if it’s a fair question?” 

“I am writing a comedy,” she replied. “My 
cousin is an actor-playwright, and he comes here 
to get plots. I am much interested in his art.” 

Jack discerned that she was talking on a sub- 
ject of great interest to her, and, although he did 
not understand anything about plays, he knew 
that, if he could keep her mind occupied, it would 
banish all unpleasant thoughts, hence he did his 
part in the conversation. 

“What do you call it?” he asked. 

“ ‘Love is Blind’,” she answered. 

“H’m — funny, ain’t it? Better change it to 
‘Inspiration is Blind’.” 

“That would be a good title in my case,” she 
said. “I might call it ‘The Fatal Inspiration,’ it 
came so near being a tragedy.” 

“You bet!” Jack agreed. “When I went into 
Frisco once with a bunch of cows, I took in a 
show. A feller on the stage made the boys so 
mad — well, a little white-faced feller came out 
an’ said he hoped we would please remember we 
were seein’ a mimic murder — not the real thing.” 

“If you lost your heads on seeing the play,” 
she said, smiling, “how do you suppose the per- 


114 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


son feels when writing such stirring scenes, when 
under the spell of an inspiration? You see why 
I so blindly rode to my destruction?” 

They soon entered the town, where J ack pro- 
cured a horse for himself, and they reached their 
destination in due time. 

Colonel Pierre Maxwell was reading a paper 
in his den. As the hours crept slowly by, he 
wondered what could be keeping May. Since 
the tragedy of many years ago at Dodge City, 
Kansas, he was nervous and always fretted in 
the absence of his daughter. She was to have 
been home early. 

When May Maxwell and Jack Morris entered 
the room, the Colonel noticed his daughter’s dis- 
arranged hair, and the blanket about her 
shoulders. 

“What under the sun — !” he exclaimed, rising. 
What meant this confusion and this stranger? 
She told her simple story, and the grateful father, 
then and there, poured out his heart to Jack! 
“And so,” he added, “you’re the famous Jack 
Morris of Wagon Mound! You didn’t do a 
thing to them cattle-thieves!” 

Jack made no reply, but stood somewhat em- 
barrassed. 


INSPIRATION IS BLIND 


115 


“An’ now,” continued the Colonel, “you’ve 
saved my daughter’s life! How kin I thank 
you?” 

“By not mentionin’ it ag’in, Colonel,” said 
Jack, uneasily shifting his big sombrero. 

When Jack met Hank, their hands came to- 
gether with a loud, resounding clasp, and they 
warmly saluted each other. 

“Say, what have you be’n tryin’ to do?” 
grinned Hank. Before Jack could answer, he 
continued: “Reckon savin’ the Colonel’s darter 
is a better recommendation than I kin give you, 
an’ I reckon that job is your’n. You’ll shore be 
an established fixture here now — an’ mark me, 
Jack, you won’t be a cook nor a cowpuncher, 
nuther, but you’ll be a boss, or” (and he winked 
at his friend) “half-owner of the dug-gun 
ranch!” 

“Fellers,” said Hank, to the other hands in the 
bunk-house before retiring, “you don’t want to 
start nothin’ with Jack Morris. Don’t ever 
speak disrespectful of the women folks when he’s 
aroun’ — he’ll shore muss you up inside an’ out- 
side!” 

“Mebbe we kin do a leetle mussin’ ourselves!” 
barked Green. 


116 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Hank turned pitifully upon him. “Green,” 
said he, compassionately, “he wouldn’t leave even 
a grease spot of you!” Green disdained to reply, 
but grinned sneeringly. “Jack’s shootin’ irons 
are as quick as the claws of a panther. An’ the 
stroke of a rattler is twenty minutes late. I tell 
you what, Green, he don’t trouble nobody till 
they starts the malee. He shore is a fine feller! 

I was with him at Wagon Mound an’ I know!” 

“How much is he payin’ you, Hank,” slurred 
Green, “to blow his tin horn?” 

“Green,” said Hank, calmly, “onct a fool like j 
you drew his gun on Jack. But Jack hated to 
kill him, so jus’ as the feller pulled his trigger. 
Jack aimed at the muzzle an’ fired! The bullets 
met ’bout half-way, an whack! they flattened into 
a big star of lead an fell to the ground ! With 
deep reespect an’ overflowin’ admiration spread 
all over his face, the fool crawled up to Jack an’ 
begged his pardon. Shootin’, Green, is jus’ pie 
fer Jack! Likewise , gentlemen of yore char- 
acter r 


Chapter X 


“reckon we’re on the same mission” 

The Maxwell home ranch stables, bunk-house 
and mess-house were some hundred yards be- 
hind the Colonel’s residence. All were made of 
heavy logs and adobe blocks. A thick adobe wall 
completely surrounded them, making an invin- 
cible stronghold in the early days of warfare with 
the Indians. 

Jack Morris, of course, ate and slept with the 
ranch hands. Shortly after his arrival he was 
invited to visit May Maxwell’s den in her father’s 
house. “A piano!” he exclaimed, as he entered. 
“Do you play?” 

“A little,” she smiled. “Do you like music?” 

“I’m simply locoed over it! But I don’t git 
much chance to hear it — only in the barroom.” 

“Mr. Morris, you shall never have to go there 
again for music.” 

“I won’t,” he faltered, looking at the piano. 
“But, Miss Maxwell, what kin a feller do when 
that is his only place for amusement? You know 


118 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


how us fellers feel after workin’ out on the range. 
We’re crazy fer a little excitement, an’ when we 
hit town an’ the saloon is the only place whar 
they’ll take us in, whar kin we go but there?” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” said the Colonel’s 
daughter, sadly. She had lived among the cow- 
men most of her life, and she knew their tempta- 
tions. She walked to the piano and ran her 
fingers idly over the keys in a few chords. “Mr. 
Morris, I wish you would come here when you 
feel that you would like to hear music; I shall be 
glad to play for you.” 

“Thank you,” he replied. “I’ll come. I 
promised my dyin’ mother never to enter a 
saloon. But that promise was one too many fer 
me! I couldn’t help it — I couldn’t.” 

“Like you pulled me out of that awful quick- 
sand hole with your rope, Mr. Morris, I am go- 
ing to draw you out of the saloon. You will al- 
ways be welcome here, and I shall be happy to 
play for you. I love music myself and I spend 
much time at my piano. Then when you get tired 
of my playing, there are books and cards and 
good things to eat. Surely these are better than 
the barroom?” 

“They shore are! But I wasn’t always so 


RECKON WE'RE ON THE SAME MISSION 119 


favored — till I come here. You an’ the Colonel 
are too good to me — too good!” 

“Look at poor Billy. You wouldn’t care to 
ruin your life like he has?” 

J ack shook his head. She turned to the piano 
and played and sang softly. As he stood beside 
her and listened to the awful story of the 
drunkard’s grave, told with pathetic expression, 
his emotions were moved to the bottom of his soul. 
He slowly walked away and seated himself near 
the window. The full moon was up and Jack 
looked out upon the glorious night, but seeing 
not, as his thoughts were carried along by the 
music. How different it was from the cheap 
tunes he had often ridden miles to hear in the 
noisy barroom. The singer forgot her listener 
and sang divinely! 

Then he became aware that the room was 
quiet. He glanced toward the piano. “Don’t 
go,” he begged. “Please play some more. I 
love music!” 

“So do I. Often when I feel blue or tired, I 
sit at my piano and very soon I am myself 
again. Music is a wonderful solace.” 

Jack came to the instrument. “You kain’t 
guess the big treat you’ve given me — no, you 


120 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


kain’t ever guess,” he said gratefully. “I love 
music! An’ now, this evenin’ in the quiet of 
yore home, it has stirred me to the very depths, 
an’ I thank you, Miss Maxwell!” 

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Morris,” she 
smiled; “never have I had so ardent an admirer. 
You do not know what a gratification it is to 
play for you,” and she began an old, familiar 
song. 

“I know it,” he said. “I’ve often sung it out 
on the plains to the ‘cows’ on the drive.” 

“To the ‘cows’?” she exclaimed. 

“Shore,” he replied. “Jus’ hear how it fits ’em 
when they’re bedded down at night: ‘Sleep, my | 
little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.’ ” 

“Doesn’t it!” she exclaimed, as she arose to 
answer a knock at the door. Red Nose Bill 
entered. 

“Good evenin’, Mr. Clark,” Jack said, rising 
from the comfortable chair and extending his 
hand to the new arrival. 

“Mr. Clark? Who, me?” Red Nose Bill asked 
in an awkward, puzzled way. 

“Isn’t yore name Mr. William Clark?” Jack 
smiled, shaking his hand. 

“Shore, shore, my ol’ woman an’ ol’ man used 


RECKON WE'RE ON THE SAME MISSION 121 


to call me by that appellation, but I ain’t heard 
it fer so long I’d fergotten it almos’. Good even- 
in’, good evenin’! Reckon we’re on the same 
mission,” he grinned. 

“Same mission?” Jack repeated. 

“Why, to spoon with the Colonel’s darter,” 
Bill whispered in the other’s ear. 

Jack flushed uncomfortably as he walked to- 
ward a chair, and he sat down very ill at ease. 

Bill stood in the middle of the room, grinning 
and twisting a button on his coat. 

“He! he! he! Miss May. I come fer to tell 
youse of how the fellers tried to beg me to go 
to town with ’em an’ booze, but how, fer yore 
sake, I reclined! I didn’t mean to trespass nor 
encroach on the reservation of yore company ; but 
when you’re disembarrassed an’ are at liberty to 
give me the abundance of yore disengaged at- 
tention, I’d like to ask a leetle advice.” 

“Sit down, Mr. Clark,” said May, “and I shall 
tell Mr. Morris of your brave struggle.” 

“An’, Miss,” said Bill, “tell ’im — tell ’im how 
youse, the wealthy darter of a wealthy cattle- 
man, helped me. Tell ’im all, Miss.” 

“I should rather have you tell it, Mr. Clark,” 
she replied; “you know it better than I do. Your 


122 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


story might help Mr. Morris some, because we 
know that he is now ‘tasting only a few drops/ 
and it was just the ‘few drops’ at first that 
brought you to shame and lost ambition.” 

“Yes, sir!” Bill said, earnestly, “the Colonel’s 
darter is a regular missionary to us fellers, an’ 
I don’t kere how bad we are, she’ll git us alone 
an’ preach till you almos’ wished you was good. 
But how a rich lady kin take so much bother with 
a pore devil like me, is more than I kin tell ! Like 
all dug-gun fools, I begin early with only a ‘few 
drops,’ an’ now — now I kain’t let it alone!” 

“Yes, you can,” Miss Maxwell said, resolutely. 

“Miss, you don’t know how hard I try. But as 
long as they sell whiskey — as long as they make 
whiskey, I’ve got to have it!” 

“No, no, you don’t. Pray to God for 
strength.” 

“I — I have, Miss, but it ain’t done me no 
good. He’ll listen to you — but me, it ain’t no 
use!” 

“Last month you earned half pay,” she said 
encouragingly. 

“That’s so! Put it all in the bank, too!” 

“You refused the boys to-night.” 

“ ’Cause I thought of you; I knew it would 


RECKON WE 1 RE ON THE SAME MISSION 123 

hurt. I don’t like to hurt yer feelin’s, Miss. The 
fellers twitted me ’bout bein’ in love with you, an’ 
I says: ‘What if I am?’ Then they says: ‘Better 
look out fer that new black-headed guy who 
saved her life; he’ll cut you out. A man don’t 
save a woman’s life fer nothin’.’ An’ then, soft 
an’ easy like, they asked me to go to town, drink 
an’ fergit ’bout you.” 

“And you would not give in to them?” she 
praised. 

“But, Miss, that’s what I’m ’fraid of : I’ll drink 
more than ever when I kain’t stan’ it no longer!” 

“Guess we’re hopeless cases,” Jack said, as he 
noticed her give a little sigh. 

She flashed him a reproachful glance for ad- 
mitting that he was on the same level with Red 
Nose Bill. “Not quite,” she answered. “There 
is always hope. Hope is the steam of life!” 

“That’s what’s the matter with me,” said Red 
Nose Bill. “I’ve be’n so full of ‘steam’ that I’ve 
exploded!” 

Jack arose from his chair. “Guess I had 
better be goin’, Miss Maxwell,” he said. “I’ve 
enjoyed yore singin’ very much; you don’t know 
what a treat it has be’n to me.” 

“I shall always be happy to sing to you,” she 
said, softly, “Come again.” 


124 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“That’s a joke,” Bill snickered, as the door 
closed on his rival. “I’ve out-stayed him! 
Wouldn’t wonder if yer new feller was a leetle 
mad at me.” 

“Billy,” she rebuked, “you must learn to be 
more polite!” 

There was a little pause. The Colonel’s 
daughter took a sheet of paper from the piano, 
and handed it to Red Nose Bill, saying: “I wrote 
you these little verses. Go with them to the bunk- 
house and read them carefully.” 

“Kain’t I read ’em here?” 

She shook her head. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, walk- 
ing toward the door. 

“Not until you have learned those verses by 
heart.” 

“Wall, I s’pose that means I’ll have to say 
good-night,” he sighed. “Say, honest, you 
shorely don’t mean I have to learn this blamed 
poultry all by heart? By jinks! I see through 
you, you want to have that new feller alone — 
you know it will take me ferever to learn this. I 
kain’t learn it in a hundred years! Didn’t I tell 
that new guy I ‘reckon we’re on the same mis- 
sion’? Yes sir, me an’ him are rivals!” 


RECKON WE'RE ON THE SAME MISSION 125 


“Billy, Billy! You are talking nonsense! 
Good-night!” 

“Huh! — Oh, good-night, Miss. Hope you 
have pleasant dreams. I’m a-goin’ to stay up the 
hull dug-gun night a-learnin’ these verses! I’ll 
be ready to recite ’em to you by to-morrow 
evenin’.” 

“I’ll have some more written for you by that 
time,” she smiled. “Good-night. Be sure you 
go straight to the bunk-house!” 

As she went to the piano she noticed a hand- 
kerchief lying on the floor beside the chair Jack 
Morris had occupied, and almost at the same 
instant a knock sounded on the door. 

“Miss Maxwell,” said Jack, “I’m awfully 
sorry to disturb you, but did you happen to find 
a handkerchief?” 

“Here it is. Won’t you come in?” 

“No, I guess not,” he hesitatingly replied. 

“I should like to make apologies to you.” 

“What fer, Miss Maxwell?” 

“Have a chair and I’ll explain to you: I think 
you were put out with Billy. He did not know 
how to act and I sent him to the bunk-house. He 
cannot call here until he has learned some verses 
by heart. Wouldn’t you like to play a game of 
cards or checkers?” 


126 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I’d rather play checkers,” he smiled. 

She placed the checkerboard on her writing 
table. They sat down and the game began in 
earnest. 

“Oh!” she cried. “Two men at a jump!” 
They heard a knock. “Another interruption,” 
she said, rising. “You can have a chance to study 
the board,” and she opened the door. 

“I’ve learned them dug-gun verses!” said Bill. 
“I’ve come to say them off to you.” 

“Hang that fool!” Jack exclaimed, and his 
arm brushed some checkers off. “Now, I’ve done 
it!” 

“It is impossible to learn them by heart so 
soon,” said May. 

“Youse jus’ take this paper an’ listen.” 

“I shall on the condition if you fail on just one 
word, you will be excused to study it over.” 

“Youse jus’ listen to me,” Billy persisted. 

Jack squared around in the chair and frowned 
on the intruder. 

“Come, let us hear you recite the verses,” May 
said, impatiently, but not unkindly. 

Billy cleared his throat and grinned. He tried 
to speak the first word but it stuck in his thoat, 
and he grinned harder than ever. Then he put 


RECKON WE’RE ON THE SAME MISSION 127 


his right foot on his left one, and twisted a but- 
ton. “Gosh, reckon I forgot how! Kain’t I 
read it, Miss?” 

“No, you know our bargain?” 

Billy scratched his head. “If I could only see 
the firs’ word,” he said, “the res’ would follee 
shore. You see, it’s always hard to git a start in 
anythin’; when a feller gits a boost, the rest is 
easy.” She turned away. “Aw, you’re too dug- 
gun hard on a feller!” 

“A bargain’s a bargain!” she said, persistently. 

“Why don’t you make him learn some verses, 
too?” 

Jack sprang up, unable to contain himself any 
longer: “Say, you, git out of here, quick!” 

“Don’t have to!” said Bill. 

“Billy,” the Colonel’s daughter commmded, 
“leave the room. You have acted very ungentle- 
manly toward Mr. Morris.” 

“An’ I’ll know them verses by to-morrow 
evenin’ — Say, mister, you needn’t think you’ll 
be here, nuther. We’re on the same mission, an’ 
I guess I kin learn poultry as good as you kin!” 
He went out and Jack sat playing with the 
checkers. 

“Mr. Morris, I hope you will pardon Billy’s 


128 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


insults. He does not know his place and I shall 
prohibit him from coming here. I tried to help 
him, but he has overstepped the limits. Shall we 
continue our game?” 

“I knocked the men screw-gee when I jumped 
up. We’ll have to start over ag’in. But I would 
rather listen to you sing. I don’t think I’m in 
the mood for games. Won’t you please play 
me something?” 

“Would you like to hear a ballad of the 
plains?” 

“Yes,” he smiled. “Did you write it?” 

“That’s the reason it’s in manuscript. It was 
after you saved my life I got the inspiration and 
wrote this song.” 

“I’d think you’d be afraid of any more in- 
spirations, after yore experience.” 

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “But next time I was 
careful where I had my inspiration, and you’re 
the hero of this one.” 

“Is that the way you write things — go ’roun’ 
sizin’ folks up?” 

“I always study human nature everywhere. 
When I see a strange face on the street, I try 
to remember it. Many of the boys on the ranch 
and even the Colonel are characters in stories.” 


RECKON WE 1 RE ON THE SAME MISSION 129 

May Maxwell’s voice had the untrammeled 
sweetness of a skylark’s, and the ballad she sang 
was a simple and touching one. 

‘‘Did you write that?” Jack asked. “By jinks! 
that’s fine!” 

Again a knock interrupted them, and Hank’s 
voice at the door declared: “Say, Jack, Cal’s got 
the colic.” 

“What!” Jack cried, rising hastily, “Cal has 
the colic, an’ the race cornin’ off to-morrow? 
Good-night, Miss Maxwell,” and shaking her 
hand he hurried toward the door. 


Chapter XI 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 

Overhead the scorching sun was pouring its 
rays upon the adobe road, which reflected the 
heat back into the air. But New Mexico is not 
a land of distressful temperature, low humidity 
giving it a comfortable summer climate. One 
might say the sun shines every day. In the shade, 
which is invariably cool, small groups of spec- 
tators were collecting and talking about the 
horse race that Colonel Pierre Maxwell gave 
every year for the pleasure of his ranch hands. 
His home ranch barnyard presented a very lively 
scene. More cowboys were arriving, their arms 
flopping, their bandanas streaming, and their 
sombreros flapping. Light spring wagons, buck- 
boards, and buggies were drawn toward the ranch 
by swift horses. Indians were riding to the race 
on little ponies. All cattleland for a hundred 
miles around would be there. Money and wagers 
were not lacking. It was second nature to them 
to bet and they were not backward. The cow- 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 131 


man’s passion for horse-racing will make him 
“go broke”, if necessary, in backing a favorite 
horse of the ranch. 

“How’s Calico gittin’ on?” asked one of 
Hank. 

“Won’t be able to run this mornin’,” Hank 
replied. “Off his feed.” 

“Who’s Jack a-goin’ to ride?” 

“He’s hasn’t decided yet. Mebbe he’ll ride 
Babe.” 

Another group was talking near the stable. 

“Say, fellers,’ said Green, confidentially; “I’ll 
give youse a tip — don’t bet on Babe.” He 
dropped his voice very low. “I’m a-goin’ to 
cut the cinch an’ when that pie-eatin’ Jack 
Morris gits to cornin’ down the homestretch — 
you wait! If the saddle don’t come off, I’m a 
bar!” 

“We’ll help youse,” said Red Nose Bill. “By 
jinks, this yere Jack Morris from Arizona 
thinks he owns the hull ranch! We’ll take him 
down a peg. Las’ night he called on my gal, an’ 
say, I’m willin’ to help youse in anything!” 

“I’m bettin’ on the Colonel’s hoss,” said 
another. 

“You’re wise,” said Green. “Jus’ keep a- 


132 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


bettin’ that way. I thought I’d jus’ give youse 
fellers the tip.” 

Another crowd was conversing at the pump. 

“That’s yer sixth cup,” said one to the one 
drinking. 

“Seventh,” the one with the cup replied. “I’m 
awfully dry this mornin’. I’ll have to have an- 
other.” 

“Say,” said the one at the pump handle, “what 
hoss you bettin’ on?” 

“The Colonel’s, of course. Who you bettin’ 
on?” Then, extending the cup again: “One more 
cup an’ I’ll quit.” 

“Better go to ‘The Owl,’ ” suggested a third. 

“I’m keepin’ sober fer the dance to-night.” 

“Did you bring yer girl?” 

“Nope. But, say, mebbe I kin borrow your’n.” 

“Not on yer life! She’s a-goin’ to dance every 
one with me. What do youse think I’m bringin* 
her fer? Git yer own!” 

“Oh, I jus’ thought mebbe you’d git tired out 
an’ I’d relieve youse, that’s all. You know a 
girl kin dance all night without the least hesita- 
tion. They’re built fer it. Onct aroun’ puts me 
on the bum. Didn’t ever see no fun in dancin’, 
anyways.” 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 133 


“Hey,” said a fifth, “look at John stealin’ the 
soap!” 

“I’m a-goin’ to soap my boats fer the dance 
to-night,” John grinned. “Makes ’em slippery!” 

“Look out fer soap-boobles!” said Green, 
joining them. “They’ll be flyin’ all over the 
room!” 

A boisterous laugh followed the remark. 

“What’s the joke?” Red Nose Bill asked. 

“You’re twenty minutes late, Bill,” one re- 
plied. “Soap-boobles! D’you see the p’int?” 

“Here’s the p’int,” said Bill, taking a whiskey 
bottle from his hip pocket. 

“ ’Sh!” one exclaimed. “Thar comes the 
Colonel’s darter!” 

“Whar?” Bill asked, hiding his bottle. 

“The aristocrat’s with her, too!” said Green, 
insinuatingly. 

“The ‘aristocrat’?” 

“Shore,” answered Green; “Jack Morris!” 

“Him?” sneered Bill. “Oh, he’s spoonin’ her! 
I hain’t got a bit of a show. You ought to see ’im 
cut me out last night! He didn’t have to learn 
no verses, either.” 

“Verses?” laughed the crowd. 

“Shore,” said Bill; “she give me some to learn 
afore I could see her ag’in.” 


134 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“She’s tryin’ to make Bill a play-actor,” 
grinned Green. “So ’st he kin make love to her 
in grand style — famously!” 

“Thar ain’t a word of love in it,” said Bill, tak- 
ing out a piece of paper. “Let me read it to 
youse.” 

The crowd broke up with loud protestations. 

“Yes, it’s too bad,” Jack was saying to the 
Colonel’s daughter, as they stood near the stable 
door. “I would like to ’ve shown you how fast 
Calico kin run. He likes to race. I know he’d 
have done his best to-day.” 

“What do you suppose was the cause of his 
sickness?” asked May. 

“I’m shore I don’t know, unless someone was 
afraid he might win, an’ doped him!” 

“I am afraid that two or three of the boys are 
jealous of you, and perhaps they might have 
played such an infamous trick!” 

There was a pause. 

“Well, I’ll try to make Babe do her best! 
Will you excuse me, Miss Maxwell? Guess I’ll 
go an’ have a look at Calico. I’d like to have 
you come, too, if you care to.” 

“I am very much interested in him,” she said. 

He held open the door to allow her to enter, 
and he followed. 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 135 


“Well, I’ll be dug-guned!” Bill exclaimed, 
looking after them. He leaned against the pump. 
“No, sir! I didn’t never think the Colonel’s 
darter would merry beneath her!” 

“Hello, Bill,” said a cowpuncher, coming up 
to the pump. “Warm mornin’, ain’t it?” 

“Kinder. Say, what hoss you bettin’ on?” 

“I’m a-backin’ up the Colonel’s. You don’t 
happen to have a chaw ’bout you?” 

“Here’s some fine-cut. So you’re bettin’ on 
the Colonel’s hoss?” 

“Why, certainly; ain’t you?” 

“Shore thing. It’s easy money, too! Bet 
ever’ cent you’ve got an’ you’ll dance better to- 
night,” winked Bill. 

Five horses were ridden out of the stable, past 
the barn, and down the road for a quarter of a 
mile. Jack followed on “Babe.” The spectators 
crowded at the fence along the road. 

“Guess the race is ’bout ready to start,” said 
the Colonel, walking toward the fence. 

A pistol shot was faintly heard. 

“They’re off!” exclaimed the Colonel, and 
everbody leaned excitedly forward to see! 

At the crack of the revolver the six horses 
sprang to the race in earnest. It was to be a 


130 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


short one, and they dashed onward at high speed 
toward the tape! 

When Jack’s horse sprang away at the start, 
the cinch broke, but as the light saddle fell off, 
he pulled himself forward by the mane. He 
dashed after the others. The spectators sent 
up a great shout. “Go it, go it, Jack!” they 
yelled, as he struggled gamely to regain lost 
ground! “Stay with ’em! You’re ketchin’ ’em! 
Go after ’em!” The excitement was intense. 

“Git back!” someone yelled; “they’re cornin’ 
on the homestretch!” 

“Oh!” exclamations went up, “a fall! They’re 
down! A stumble! Killed! Jack’s safe! So’s 
the Colonel’s hoss! Look, here they come!” 

With a last effort the horses swept by! 

The Colonel’s horse crossed first, with Jack’s 
a close second, followed by a tenacious sorrel. 
But the other three did not cross : they were lying 
in a fallen heap. The bystanders crowded around. 

***** 

The lights of the mess-house shone brightly, 
and the sound of the fiddles floated out upon the 
night air. The Colonel’s daughter and Jack 
reined up their horses and listened. 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 137 


“Why,” said Jack, “they’re playin’ yore 
ballad.” 

“And just think of it, I had a chance to be 
dancing it!” 

“Red Nose Bill?” Jack smiled. 

She nodded. 

When the fiddles stopped the two equestrians 
rode away. The couples began coming out into 
the fresh air. They went directly to the pump. 

Hank walked on one side of Betsy, and Red 
Nose Bill on the other. 

“I shorely thought the boys was killed in that 
fall,” said Betsy. “It was a lucky escape. I’m 
so glad they ain’t a-goin’ to die, because I 
wouldn’t have danced to-night if they had. Why, 
here comes the editor!” 

“Guess he wants to ask us fer our votes,” said 
Bill. “He’s gone into politics.” 

“Good evenin’,” said the editor, tipping his 
sombrero. 

“Good evenin’, good evenin’,” the others re- 
plied. 

“Givin’ us a great write-up?” Hank asked. 

“Four colyums already!” the editor answered. 
“Do you know how Jack Morris’s saddle fell off? 
They say it was cut with a knife.” 


138 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Yes, sir, it was!” said Hank. “Bet yer life! 
Jack found out that some foxy devil was afraid 
he’d win the race, an’ so cut his cinch with a 
knife. He figgered the strain would bust the 
strap. Wait till Jack ketches him!” 

“Perty hard to track a knife-cut,” said the 
editor. 

“Wall, I’ve seen Jack foller harder trails. Say, 
but didn’t he ride fine! He perty near won the 
race in spite of that dirty trick played on him.” 

There was a pause in which the editor was busy 
putting down memoranda. 

“Say,” said Hank, “if you don’t put it down 
right in yer paper, you’ll git in trouble!” 

“Four colyums!” smiled the editor. “I’ll fix 
it up all right.” 

The shrill yell of a late plainsman was heard as 
he spurred his horse toward the dance. 

“Somebudy’s cornin’ to join in the frolic,” said 
Bill. 

“I’d like a drink of water,” said Betsy, im- 
patiently. The men, it seemed, had forgotten her. 

“Oh, certainly,” said Hank and Bill, both 
stepping toward the pump. 

“Good evenin’,” said Green, coming up to 
Betsy. “I see you’re deserted.” 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 139 


“It’s funny how at certain times men try to 
be so obligin’,” she said, sarcastically nodding 
toward Hank and Red Nose Bill at the pump 
as both were trying to fill the cup at once. 

“Don’t women try to be?” Green grinned* 
“Fer instance, how different a gal will treat a 
man when he asks her to go to a dance with him. 
Is yer nex’ dance engaged?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Kin I have the pleasure?” 

She gave him her arm and they entered the 
hall. Some of the couples began to follow them. 

“Yes,” said the editor to his fair partner, “if 
the news continues to boom, I’ll be compelled to 
change my hand-press fer a steam one! Four 
colyums!” he chuckled, as they entered. 

Hank turned with the cup to offer it to Betsy. 

“By jinks, Betsy’s gone,” said Hank. “That’s 
what we git fer tryin’ to be so polite!” 

“Mebbe some guy rustled her off,” said Bill. 
“But I don’t give a dug-gun; I know whar the 
cake is settin’ an’ I’m a-goin’ to steal it right 
now. By jinks, Hank it’s made of real apricots! 
I seen Betsy make it. Come on, an’ we’ll have 
some by ourselves — half a cake apiece ; with frost 
on it a half-inch thick — a three-layer one, too! 
Come on.” 


140 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

“You shore nobody’s guardin’ it?” Hank ques- 
tioned. 

“What do we kere? Say, which do you like 
the best: apricots or apricots? I think I like 
apricots the best!” 

“Go on!” grinned Hank, poking Bill in the 
side. 

“I seen a lovely pie, too,” said Bill. 

“We’ll git lynched, if we git caught!” Hank 
warned. 

“We won’t git caught. Come on. The ‘frolic- 
ers’ are goin’ to dance ag’in. By jinks! I forgot: 
I’ve got this next dance with Mrs. Swale. Say, 
Hank, you git the cake, while we’re unsus- 
piciously dancin’ aroun’, an’ you guard it jeal- 
ously till I join you in the stable. We’ll have a 
feast!” Bill exclaimed, walking toward the hall. 

“I’m goin’ to take the risk, an’ you’re to git 
the goods. Not much! I’d rather hold up the 
stage-coach — I’m shore I’d git off easier,” said 
Hank, convincingly. 

“Kain’t you find a partner, ‘Kansas’?” one at 
the door asked. 

“We’re a-goin’ to set the nex’ one out,” Hank 
replied. He went in and took a seat near the 
musicians. 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 141 


“Let’s play some games after the dance,” sug- 
gested Red Nose Bill. “I’m tired of dancin’. 
Let’s play post-office.” 

“Post-office!” exclaimed the ones within hear- 
ing. 

“It’s a jolly good game,” Red Nose Bill 
grinned. “More fun than huggin’, anyway. You 
go into a dark room an’ call for a letter or some- 
thin’. When a gal comes in you jus’ grab her 
» 

an — 

“I know how to play it,” someone interrupted, 
“but it’s only a kid’s game.” 

“So’s dancin’,” said Bill. 

“Dancin’ ain’t a kid’s game,” the ladies said 
in chorus. 

“Youse go hoppin’ aroun’ over the floor like a 
jack-rabbit,” Bill continued. “If that ain’t a 
kid’s game I don’t know what is. An’ it’s a 
regular huggin’ match, too!” 

Some of the ladies indignantly drew their part- 
ners away. 

“Any man that calls dancin’ a kid’s game or 
a huggin’ match is a little off in his upper story,” 
said a little damsel, indignantly. “An’ you’re 
jus’ crazy because you can’t dance yourself!” 

“Kain’t I? I kin dance as good as anybudy. 


142 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


I learned to dance to the tune of a six-shooter,” 
Bill grinned, walking away. 

The fiddles began to play “Home, Sweet 
Home,” and the couples began to glide around 
the floor. 

As one of the couples whirled merrily toward 
the door, the lady happened to espy a small piece 
of paper sticking from under it. She called at- 
tention to it and her partner picked it up — to 
drop it again with an exclamation. At once a 
few couples stopped to ascertain the cause, and 
the congregation soon attracted others. 

They learned that it was a note signed by 
Cap’n Kidd. At once the dance broke up. 

“Mebbe it’s only a joke,” someone remarked. 

“A joke! Look at the signature — it’s gen- 
uine!” 

“More colyums!” grinned the editor. 

“You bet!” exclaimed Hank. “But it’ll be 
the kind wearin’ blue coats an’ brass buttons this 
time!” 

The editor nodded apprehensively, and began 
jotting down his notes. 

Someone located Jack Morris and brought him 
to the mess-house. When he had carefully ex- 
amined the paper, he glanced up at the excited 


A HOLIDAY AT MAXWELL RANCH 143 


faces and said quietly: “It’s genuine! It’s Cap’n 
Kidd’s signature!” 

With smothered “Ohs!” the listeners fearfully 
glanced around as if expecting to encounter the 
mysterious outlaw. 

Long after the guests had departed, and rest 
had settled over the ranch, Jack paced uneasily 
before the mess-house. 

“So the Cap’n’s tryin’ to make a fool of me 
again!” he exclaimed furiously as he stumbled 
away, and wearily bent his steps toward the 
bunk-house. 


Chapter XII 


THE KID 

Harry Western, from all outward appear- 
ance, was a slender youth, standing not over five 
feet three in high-heeled riding boots. The big, 
broad-brimmed Stetson sat gracefully upon long, 
brown curls which hung to the shoulders, shading 
a pair of bright, but shy, brown eyes. A big, 
red silk handkerchief was looped loosely about 
a well-rounded neck. The face was tanned and 
very smooth; the hands were small; there was 
something girlish in his entire make-up, and he 
was occasionally called “Maggie” by some of the 
jealous hands who perceived that “the Kid” was 
given more privileges than they. When the fore- 
man happened to hear satirical remarks about 
“the perty boy” he would say, “Harry is only re- 
served.” And though he was retiring and very 
seldom associated with the other ranch hands, a 
complaisant one was he. The case being, in truth, 
that he treated his fellow- workmen with worthy 
estimation and they could not openly act their 


THE KID 


145 


gratification. But their time came: Harry was 
to go with the band of cattle on the drive. 
“The Kid’s too stuck up over his handsomeness,” 
said Green; “he won’t dirty his perty leetle han’s. 
At firs’ I thought he was Billy the Kid * in dis- 
guise! Haw! haw! haw! haw!” 

“Did you ever notice how he looks at a feller 
with his big, brown eyes when he hears him cuss?” 
asked one, disdainfully. 

“Looks like he’s a-goin’ to cry!” Green sneered. 
“Say, did you ever happen to see him laugh?” 

“He don’t never laugh,” a third replied. 

“Wait till he’s got to pull a few cows out of the 
mud,” said Red Nose Bill. 

“An’ drinks out of a waterhole,” said the third. 

“I’ll bet he’ll wish he was back here playin’ 
with his twins,” said Green. 


* Note : Billy the Kid, a notorious outlaw of the 
Southwest, who was finally killed by Sheriff Pat Garrett, 
was accused of taking twenty-three lives when he himself 
was at the ripe age of twenty-three. Then his ignominious 
end came. He and his gang would suddenly come upon 
some unsuspecting Mexican sheep herder and shoot him 
down in cold blood “ just to watch him kick ! ” Thus, 
Green’s intimation was readily understood when he sarcas- 
tically applied the title to the peace-loving Harry Western. 
He believed the comparison would show Harry up in the 
light of a “ faint heart.” 


140 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Twins?” the first exclaimed. “Has he got 
twins?” 

“Whar you be’n?” Green inquired. “Shore, 
he’s got twins, an’ he’s gone locoed over ’em!” 

“Didn’t know he knew enough to git merried,” 
grinned the other. 

“You’re right thar,” said Green. “But he’s 
got four-legged twins.” 

“Four-legged twins! You don’t tell me!” 

“Calves.” 

“Calves?” 

“Bet yer life! The boss give ’em to him an’ 
he spends all his extra time playin’ with ’em!” 

“An’ he’s goin’ with us on the drive?” pro- 
tested Red Nose Bill. 

“He’s a-goin’ to start out with us anyway. 
An’ mebbe you won’t believe me — he’s goin’ to 
have a special camp wagon all by himself.” 

“You don’t say so! Well, well, who is he, 
anyway?” the others sneered. 

“Why don’t you be a friend of the boss, too? 
I’m a-goin’ to reciprocate,” Green declared. 

“Don’t do it, Green,” said one; “you’re not 
perty enough! You’ve got to give back fer what 
you receive. Yer proportions are not in har- 
mony with yer desire. Besides, you wouldn’t 


THE KID 


147 


fondle a calf like ‘Maggie’ kin — yer han’s are 
not mates! As fer handlin’ the boss, you’re not 
delicate enough. Furthermore, yer confidence 
is against you. An’ as I have said — ” 

The supper bell rang. 

At the table one of the boys asked, “Wonder 
if the Kid’s through milkin’ his calves?” 

“Not him,” another replied. “ His han’s are 
too stuck up ; don’t ketch him a-milkin’. He don’t 
believe in reciprocity, like Green does.” 

“What’s that?” said Green, hearing his name 
mentioned. 

“I was jus’ sayin’, you’d better go out an’ help 
the Kid milk his twins.” 

“We’ll take turns. He’s a-goin’ to tie ’em on 
the back of his cook wagon, an’ we’ll have fresh 
milk on the drive!” Green sneered. 

Then he recited: 

“ ‘But, say, have you rid acrost the plains 
When the noon sun was pourin’ down 
Like fire? Have you? If not, you kain’t 
Appreciate the ‘waterhole.’ 

Why, pard, it’s worth a gold mine I 
This greenish bit of boilin’ pond 
Of rotten water full of bones! 

It’s water, though, an’ we are glad!’ ” 


148 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“You must have learned that from Shake- 
speare Bill,” said Hank. “His poetry wasn’t 
so bad; but he shore was!” 

The Kid entered. 

“How’s yore nursery gittin’ on, ‘Maggie’?” 
Green taunted. 

Harry ignored the sarcastic remark, and sat 
at a vacant place at the table. 

“Say, Green,” said Hank, “will you pass the 
‘spuds’ down this way?” 

“Why, shore,” said Green, passing the pota- 
toes. “Say, Hank, I savvy you’re not a-goin’ 
to do the cookin’ this drive.” 

“Nope,” said Hank, “I’ve got a predecessor.” 

“ ‘Maggie?’ ” Green slurred. 

“Shore,” Hank answered. “But I ain’t re- 
sponsible fer his cookin’, though I’m perfectly 
willin’ to trust his viridescent efforts.” 

“I have made coffee,” Harry declared. 

“Didn’t burn the water?” Hank asked, jok- 
ingly. 

“It went up into steam!” Harry answered. 

“I’ll bet the outfit changed its cook right then!” 
insinuated Green. 

“But this outfit won’t, Green,” said Harry, 
simply; and his quiet tone shut Green up for the 
rest of the meal. 


THE KID 


149 


After supper Ed Maxwell said to his sister: 
“Say, but you’re lookin’ perty this evening. Is 
Harry cornin’ over?” 

“How do I know?” May asked, innocently. 

“Why, I jus’ thought he might come over an’ 
say good-bye afore goin’ on the drive — that’s 
all. Ha! ‘Speak of the devil an’ he’s shore to 
appear!’ Guess I’d better git out of here : ‘two’s 
a company, an’ three’s a crowd,’ you know.” 

“You can’t tease,” May smiled, as she opened 
the door in answer to a knock. 

“Good evenin’,” said Harry, modestly. 

“Good evening,” said May. “Come right in.” 

“Hello, Kid,” Ed greeted. “Have a chair.” 

“How’re the twins getting along?” May in- 
quired. 

“Fine an’ dandy!” Harry replied. “They’re 
lively as jack rabbits. You must come an’ see 
’em some time.” He dropped his eyes, shyly. 

“Speakin’ of calves,” said Ed; “I heard that 
Green objects to you as drive cook, Kid.” 

“He hasn’t tasted my apple pies,” Harry re- 
plied, evasively. 

Ed pulled the end of his moustache. He ad- 
mired the Kid for not “squealing.” 

“Hank says,” remarked May, “ ‘that feller 


150 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Green takes to bullyin’ jus’ like a chicken takes 
to the shade in summer.’ ” 

“Hank’s right,” said Ed. “That Green’s al- 
ways raisin’ cain!” and he went out. 

An hour later when Harry returned to the 
mess-house, Green accosted him: “Say, Kid, 
whatcher mean by tellin’ on me?” 

“Tellin’ on you?” Harry repeated. 

“Say, youse tol’ the boss I’d be’n usin’ you 
shameful. Whatcher got to say?” 

Harry drew himself up like a little bantam 
rooster, and his voice shook with anger as he an- 
swered: “This is what I’ve got to say — you’re a 
coward an’ a bully 1” 

“You’re a liar!” screamed Green. 

There was a dead silence, in which Green 
glared into Harry’s resolute eyes. Then a voice 
commanded: “Step back thar, Green!” 

Green’s right arm slowly, reluctantly, lowered 
to his side and he stepped back as Jack Morris 
came out from behind the corner of the mess- 
house. Green stood, crouching like a whipped 
cur. 

The ranch hands began to collect around the 
group and questions were put as to the cause of 
the trouble. The “whipped dog” took courage 


THE KID 


151 


at the sight of a few of his friends. Rousing him- 
self, he yelped lamely. 

Jack pointed toward the road, saying: “Git 
out of here.” 

“Let him stay,” Harry interceded. 

A few hours later Jack met Harry at the 
pump. 

“Kid,” said he, “my sister shore thinks you’re 
it: the way you stuck up fer Green — ” 

“Did you tell her?” Harry rebuked. 

“She saw you as we drove up to the house from 
the depot, an’ wanted to know who that perty boy 
was. I out an’ tol’ her. She wants to meet you 
now. She’ll be here fer quite a spell — jus’ from 
Frisco. Come on, Kid, an’ git ‘a knock-down’, 
She shore thinks you’re it!” 


Chapter XIII 


ON THE DRIVE 

Ed Maxwell ordered a thousand head of 
cattle to be delivered at Raton. It required skill 
and judgment to handle this herd, and Jack 
Morris was made drive boss. The first day the 
herders were kept busy keeping the cattle from 
breaking out and returning to their old feeding 
grounds. After pushing them and tiring them 
so that they would lie down and rest at night, 
they became accustomed to the drive, and gave 
less trouble. Each cowpuncher knew his duties, 
and each day was about the same. They guided 
the great herd by riding along its edge, and if 
it turned, they rode at the leaders and drove 
them in the direction desired. In the rear some 
of the boys kept the stragglers up. A mid-day 
sun poured its hot rays upon the plains and the 
heat arose from the burning soil into parched 
faces and gritty throats; the herd made the dust 
fly in a choking cloud. All were very thirsty. 
“Oh, for a waterhole!” 


ON THE DRIVE 


158 


“Say, Jack, you ain’t seen the cook, have ye?” 
asked Hank. 

“No cook,” Jack replied. “He’d be mighty 
welcome.” And he replaced the big handker- 
chief over his mouth to keep out the dust. 

“Say, Jack, wouldn’t you like to have a juicy 
steak” Hank tantalized, “or a nice drink of cool 
spring water?” 

Jack wiped the dust which had settled about 
his mouth, but remained silent. Hank seemed 
to be enjoying the misery and chuckled. 

After a few more long hours of thirst and 
hunger, they brought the dusty herd to the Cim- 
arron, a name given to the Canadian River in 
the northern part of New Mexico. The cattle 
were wild for water and in the rush some of the 
weaker were pushed back by the stronger. Worse 
yet, some of the herd had been pushed into deep 
water, and there they began “milling,” swimming 
round and round as in a whirlpool, helpless, and 
likely to drown in numbers. There was no time 
to think of danger, but into the tossing horns the 
men swam their horses and with shouts and ropes 
endeavored to head the crazed cattle toward the 
shore. All was a blinding confusion! At last 
the “mill” was broken, and tired as the horses 


154 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


were, worn out and starved as the men were, they 
had to pull out of the mud with ropes the sink- 
ing animals. 

The cattle huddled on the bank. They were 
too exhausted to give any more trouble for a 
time, and they cropped the short grass, or sank 
to rest as they pleased. The men unsaddled their 
trembling bronchos, and they, too, were allowed 
to go free. After a “snatch of grub” the men 
threw themselves upon the hot ground, used their 
wet saddles for pillows and slept. When they 
awoke to stand their turn at herding, they saw 
the campfire casting its circle of light not far 
away, and they arose stiff and sore and stretched 
their aching limbs and yawned. 

At daybreak they ate the rude fare, drank the 
hot coffee and before the sun was up each man 
had saddled a fresh horse and was helping to 
push the herd along the river. 

Thus they arrived at Raton in about a week, 
and every one of them was not sorry to see the 
last of the herd. 

Is it any wonder that the boys went wild that 
night upon reaching town? After some hard 
months upon the range they were starved for 
society and “blowed in every cent fer a good 


ON THE DRIVE 


155 


time.” Like the ship-wrecked sailor stuffs him- 
self when food is put in quantity before him, the 
boys spend their hard-earned wages in a night, 
indulging their ravenous appetites to excess. 
Raton was an important center of the cattle in- 
dustry and headquarters of the Maxwell Land 
Grant and Cattle Company. The saloon was 
the only house for amusement and the boys 
dropped in to watch a game of cards. They 
drank whiskey and played ; drank more and 
lost more money ; played more recklessly; 
drank more whiskey; and at last returned to 
camp “dead broke.” 

Harry Western, the cook, rode out on the old 
Santa Fe Trail. Its history was one of the 
most tragic and bloody episodes of the West. 
Kansas was familiarly known as the Grazing 
State, and its trade in the early days with the 
Southwest engaged many men and wagons. The 
old trail ran along the Arkansas River, through 
Colorado by way of the Raton Pass into New 
Mexico. A military post was established at 
Leavenworth, Kansas, to protect the freighters 
and cattlemen, and strong escorts of cavalry 
accompanied the overland wagon-trains to repel 
the attacks of Indians. Yet fearful ambuscades 


156 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


and massacres were a daily occurrence, making 
a line of blood many hundred miles across the 
plains that made the scenes Harry had witnessed 
and taken part in, seem but a sham as he com- 
pared them with the terrible battles of the Old 
Santa Fe Trail. 

“Hello, Kid,” said Hank, “whar in the deuce 
have you be’n?” 

“Enjoying the scenery on the old Santa Fe 
Trail.” 

“Humph! Scenery ain’t very startlin’, is it?” 

“Not of a very tremendous type,” Harry an- 
swered; “but full of incident.” 

“You’re right. Say, did I ever tell you of the 
time we had cornin’ up from Kansas? Wall, me 
an’ Jack — ” 

“ ‘Lend me your ears,’ ” said Buck Tooth 
Hanson, turning to go. “With apologies to 
Hank, Mack, let’s move; he’s a-goin’ to give us 
one of ’is yarns ag’in.” 

“Wall, Buck Tooth,” Hank grinned, “this 
one’s ’bout a gal.” 

“Oh!” the other ejaculated, “that’s different.” 

The boys lounged around the fire. Everyone 
appeared to think that all his troubles were ended, 
and the camp took on an assumed air of idleness. 


ON THE DRIVE 


157 


They enjoyed the rest after that hard drive, and 
smoked now in contentment and comfort. Hank 
lay upon his back, gazing at the stars. Sud- 
denly he sat up. “Any you fellers ever git 
throwed down by a gal?” They looked at each 
other, and grinned. “If any of you have, you’ll 
appreciate what I’m a-goin’ to tell you.” He 
knocked the ashes from his pipe upon the high 
heel of his boot. “It was ’way back in Kansas 
it happened, an’ that’s why I’m in New Mexico,” 
he continued. 

“You kain’t seem to git over that sparkin’. 
Hank,’ said Buck Tooth. 

“Shore,” said Hank. “Set down an’ listen. 
Well, I asked the gal to merry me, like all men 
do, if they git the chanct, an’ she threw me 
down — ” 

“Like all women do if they git the chanct?” 
one broke in, questioningly. 

“Wall,” Hank said, “mebbe it was my fault 
this time. I was so blamed bashful! But you 
kin bet I’ve long since recuperated. Women 
don’t any more scare me now than a yearling, or 
a full-grown cow when I’m on my bronc. When 
I was a beginner, I mus’ have got a leetle mixed. 

“One night I went to call on Betsy, an’ after 


158 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

I’d worked up to the pitch, I says: ‘I don’t know 
what’s the matter with me lately, kain’t eat, I 
kain’t sleep, kain’t do nothin’; kain’t even keep 
my eyes off of you !’ 

“ ‘Oh, shucks,’ she grunts in the mos’ dis- 
gusted way, an’ moves away on the sofee. 

“I edges up a leetle nearer an’ says: ‘Betsy, if 
I should ask — if you should ask — if I — if you — 
if we should ask — I mean, if us — oh, durn it! if 
we should ask you to be my ol’ woman — I mean, 
I don’t mean what I say — I say, I don’t mean 
what I mean — I mean — I say!’ 

“I pulled myself together by a mighty effort, 
an’ says I: ‘Betsy, when I come back from the 
round-up, will I — kin I take you fishin’?’ 

“ ‘Oh, Hank,’ says she, ‘I love to fish!’ 

“ ‘Ever ketch a sucker?’ I says. 

“ ‘What do you mean?’ she demands, indig- 
nant-like. 

“ ‘I mean, Betsy, will you merry me?’ 

“ ‘Huh!’ she snaps, ‘think I’d merry a fool?’ 

“ ‘Think I’d merry a woman?’ I sneered, git- 
tin’ up on my dignity! But that’s all the further 
I could git that time. When I comes back from 
the roun’-up, I fin’s my perty bird had vamosed 
fer New Mexico, not leavin’ any explanation be- 
hind fer me. 


ON THE DRIVE 


159 


“ ‘This is edifyin’,’ says I to myself. ‘An' 
I’ll learn her a thing or two!’ So one day me an’ 
Jack—” 

“Why’s he workin’ on the same ranch with 
Betsy fer?” Buck Tooth asked, with a wink. 

“B’gosh!” Hank exclaimed; “does look kinder 
like a put-up job. But,” he resumed with a grin, 
“hostilities ain’t be’n settled a-tween us yet: 
Betsy’s still on the warpath. She’s the most ani- 
mositiest critter I ever seen! Mebbe some day 
we’ll smoke the pipe o’ peace.” 

Hank arose. “I’m a-goin’ to town an’ bring 
out some apples here an’ make a pie!” he an- 
nounced. 

“Ow-wow!” the boys yelled, jumping up. 
“Apple pies! Apple pies! Ow — wow! Home- 
made! Wow!” 

There was great commotion and confusion. 
Some of the boys were slapping Hank on the 
back with their sombreros. Others saddled their 
bronchos. They rode to town with Hank. 
Presently they returned with the apples, and 
Hank finally completed a pie. Everyone be- 
came impatient; it seemed to require a very long 
time to bake in the ill-constructed oven! 

“Hey, ‘Kansas’,” said another, “pile on some 


100 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


more chips; that fire wouldn’t scorch a ha’r, let 
alone roast a pie!” 

“Youse fellers,” said Hank, “will spoil it if 
you git too highfalutin’.” 

The oven fell over! 

“I tol’ you so. Who done it?” Hank stormed. 
“Wall, somebudy’s a-goin’ to git hurt! I’m not 
a-goin’ to have nobudy ruin my reputation. If 
this pie’s spoilt, I’m the one that’ll suffer!” 

“It depen’s on who eats it, ‘Kansas’,” they 
grinned in chorus. 

“I’m not askin’ you to eat it, anyways! I’m 
not afraid of my own cookin’, an’, b’gosh! I’ll 
eat the pie, if — ” 

“Not by a blamed sight!” they yelled. “Not 
by a blamed sight!” 

“Wall, fellers,” said Hank, drawing himself 
up, “if everyone of you don’t git away from here 
an’ quit botherin’ me, I’ll jus’ natcherally let the 
pie go to the devil!” 

“ ’Tis in a perty warm place jus’ now!” said 
Buck Tooth, walking away. 

After many complications the pie was taken 
from the oven. 

“How’ll we divide it?” Hank smiled, examin- 
ing his art with great satisfaction. 


ON THE DRIVE 


161 


“I’ll show you,” said Jack, placing his finger 
upon the coveted treasure: “This is the way!” 
He grabbed the pie and sprang toward his horse. 
Before they recovered from their cruel surprise, 
he was galloping toward town with triumphant 
yells! There was a hurried mounting and an 
eager pursuit. They dashed down the main 
street, yelling, spurring, and firing their big six- 
shooters into the air. People scrambled, fell, and 
scattered for shelter. It was exciting when the 
cowboys came to town! 


Chapter XIV 


THE RIVALS 

Jack beat them back to camp. They arrived 
hot on his trail, jumped from their sweaty ponies, 
and ran to where he sat, cutting the pie into 
pieces. They squatted around the campfire and 
he gave everyone a piece. 

“Say, ‘Kansas’,” said one, with his mouth full 
of pie, “how did youse happen to stick to Betsy’s 
trail?” 

“Well,” said Hank, licking his fingers, “I did 
perty well, until the Injuns got after me.” 

“Injuns?” Mack inquired. 

“An’ then I done better. Say, that pie warn’t 
half bad, was it?” Hank asked with great 
satisfaction. 

“Did the Injuns scare ye, ‘Kansas’?” Mack 
questioned. 

“Not till we run out of ammunition.” 

“Then what happened?” Mack grinned. 

“Well,” said Hank, “after we’d run out of 
ammunition, an’ was ’bout to give up, the United 


THE RIVALS 


163 


States Cavalry came to our rescue, an’ we was 
mighty thankful! Say, this here pie — ” 

“That wasn’t half a fight,” said Mack. “You’d 
ought to have seen — ” 

“You’d have thought so,” said Hank, “if you’d 
be’n thar. Injuns everywhar!” 

“How many did you kill?” questioned Buck 
Tooth. 

“ ’Bout ’nough to make feather dusters fer the 
hull country! They’ve be’n makin’ dusters from 
the red devils’ plumage I killed ever since!” 

“You mean feather-beds!” said Mack, sarcas- 
tically. 

“Not so, ye idiots!” said Buck Tooth. “Hank 
was tellin’ us ’bout his job he had with a Wild 
West Show!” 

“Guess I’ll hit my blanket,” Hank yawned. 
He went to his broncho, took off the heavy saddle 
and bridle, and hobbled the beast. The others 
followed his example, and the camp was soon 
asleep — dreaming of apple pies ! 

The next morning before the sun was barely 
up, the outfit started on the homeward journey. 
Jack rode beside Harry on the cook wagon, and 
Hank joined them. 

“Say, what ailed you last night, old man in 


104 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


yore sleep?” Jack questioned. “You put yore arm 
’round my neck, sayin’, ‘Yes, Betsy, I’ll be good 
to you I’ ” 

“Oh, that’s what apple pie done!” Hank 
blushed. “Apples do make you dream, don’t 
they?” 

“You’re so foxy, wonder you don’t catch 
Apache Kidd!” Jack insinuated. 

“We did come mighty dost to ketchin’ him the 
time we come from Kansas on the Santee Fee 
Trail,” Hank declared. “You remember, Jack?” 

Jack nodded. 

“Then you really had a fight?” Harry asked. 

“Bet yore life!” Hank exclaimed. 

“I thought you were only prevaricatin’ last 
night with the boys and they were makin’ fun 
of you.” 

“Kain’t hardly blame ’em, I’ve given ’em some 
perty big variations. But this is a true lie of our 
fight on the Ol’ Santee Fee Trail ’bout seven 
years ago: Me an’ Jack was rustlin’ some chips 
fer the fire one evenin’. We had be’n pushin’ fer 
Bent’s Fort as fas’ as our jackasses could travel. 
We hadn’t seen an Injun fer a day or so, an’ 
when you kain’t see ’em you kin bet yore las’ 
dollar they’re up to some devilment! Frank 


THE RIVALS 


165 


Smith tol’ us not to go fir, but we was only kids, 
an’ warn’t af eared of Injuns!” 

“Bent’s Fort is in Colorado, isn’t it?” Harry 
asked. 

“Shore. Mighty hard place ’roun’ thar,” 
Hank replied. “It was in the center of a big 
buffalo range, an’ the Injuns used to attack the 
ol’ fort; but they never got it! It was full of 
reckless Injun traders an’ Injun fighters, an’ 
Bent was thar leader. He was the firs’ Ameri- 
can Governor of New Mexico, by the way. The 
fort became a popular place as emigration in- 
creased. The troops camped thar an’ often got 
guides. As we didn’t like the looks of things we 
wanted to git under the protection of the ol’ fort, 
but we couldn’t make it, so we camped. As I 
said, me an’ Jack was rustlin’ chips fer the fire. 
We both on us had got a good big hatful and was 
ridin’ back to camp, when we heard a shot an’ my 
bronc fell under me. 

“ ‘Climb up behin’ me, quick,’ says Jack. 

“ ‘Perty heavy load fer one horse,’ says I; ‘but 
we’ll try it!’ 

“He put the spurs to his hoss an’ ’way we 
went. We didn’t git fer from the river when his 
hoss was shot dead from under us. 


166 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ ‘By jinks!’ says I, ‘this is gittin’ to be perty 
serious !’ 

“ ‘Lay down bellin’ the hoss,’ says J ack, 
workin’ hard to git his Winchester from its saddle 
holster, which was pinned under the bronch. 

“A bullet zipped passed me an’ you kin bet I 
wasted no time lookin’ fer the nex’ one. I laid 
on my face, an’ jerked out my six-shooters. Jack 
had got his Winchester out an’ he drew bead. 
Then I saw a feller up in a tree who had be’n 
pickin’ off our bosses as nice as you please! Jack 
let fly at him an’ then there came a loud yell ! A 
band of Injuns jumped out from some bushes, 
whoopin’ like mad! 

“ ‘Guess it’s Apache Kidd,’ says Jack, aimin’ 
carefully. He fired an’ the Kidd dropped from 
the tree. But, as we know, he’s still alive; I 
guess J ack didn’t kill him that time ! In fact, I’m 
willin’ to swear that Cap’n Kidd is bullet-proof! 
By jinks! I know of a feller who rode up bellin’ 
him, shot him in the back, an’ even then Apache 
Kidd turned an’ killed the feller on the spot, an’ 
got away! I dunno, he shore is a devil! Hope 
somebody will git him perty soon.” 

“How did you manage to escape?” Harry per- 
sisted. 


THE RIVALS 


167 


“We hd’ the Injuns off till dark, an’ then 
crawled to camp on our han’s an’ knees. Frank 
Smith heerd the firin’ an he had got the wagons 
ready fer a fight. The fire was out. We et col’ 
grub that night, with our we’pons dost at han\ 
But the Injuns didn’t disturb us no more.” 

“I have heard that many of the white men had 
merried Indian women of that region, and 
adopted the dress and habits of the Indians, and 
sometimes became chiefs in the tribes. From 
whom sprang half-breeds — very dangerous men 
—in whom was bred the courage of the white man 
and the crafty, treacherous spirit of the red man,” 
said Harry. 

“That’s Apache Kidd! Them’s the kind you 
want to watch out fer — Dang you, Satan!” he 
exclaimed, hitting the lazy horse with the quirt, 
“wonder you wouldn’t eat at the right time.” 
“Satan” jerked up his head and tossed it up and 
down as he started forward. Hank chuckled: 
“He knows he’s a-goin’ wrong. A hoss knows 
perty near as m ch as a man — mebbe more in 
some things.” 

There was a pause. 

“It seems to me,” Harry ventured, “someone 
ought to be able to capture Apache Kidd.” 


168 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Wall, you jus’ try it, Kid, fer luck! We’ve 
had our fun at it. Besides, thar’s that five thou- 
sand dollar inducement, you know,” said Hank. 

Hank’s tone gave Harry to understand that 
it was almost useless to try, but he asked: “You 
haven’t given up hope?” 

“No — oh, no — not exactly! Every dog has 
his day’ an’ Kidd will have his’n! It ain’t 
much use to go after him, especially; but if you 
jus’ happen to run acrost him, try yore luck, an’ 
luck be with you, Kid!” 

After a short pause Harry asked: “Have you 
ever been in Arizona?” 

“Bet yore life! Chased Apache Kidd all over 
the Grand Canyon an’ the Cliff Dwellings an’ 

the Painted Desert, from Tombstone to Yuma, 

_ >> 
an — 

“That’s where it’s so hot that the hens lay 
strangled eggs, isn’t it?” Harry queried, with a 
smile. 

“Bet yore life! It’s hot ’nough to burn the 
hoofs off’n yore bronc. That’s the reason I 
had to give up the chase!” Hank grinned. 

“You’re a good-natured one!” Harry expostu- 
lated. 

“Ain’t I? Kain’t blame the boys, kin you? 


THE RIVALS 


Atmos’ believe ’em myself, sometimes,” and 
Hank’s grin broadened. 

“No wonder Betsy fled from Kansas!” 

“By jinks, that’s right! I’ll swear off when I 
git merried.” 

“Better start now. You might believe you’re 
married — if you don’t,” Jack inferred. 

“Won’t she be glad to see you?” Hank 
grinned at Jack suggestively. 

“ ‘She’?” Jack repeated, with a puzzled air. 

“Why, you know: May Maxwell — shore! 
Think I don’t know?” 

After a short silence, Jack asked: “Have you 
ever noticed an ol, rooster keepin’ one eye on 
the ground, lookin’ fer feed fer his hens, an’ his 
other eye watchin’ the sky?” 

“Oh, yes!” Harry exclaimed; “he’s looking 
for hawks.” 

“So am I, ’’Jack said. “I’m always lookin’ fer 
hawks. But even if I am, now an’ then one will 
git into the chicken yard in spite — ” 

“Of the ol, rooster,” Hank interrupted with a 
slight grin. 

Jack smiled: “Not an ol, rooster, Hank, but 
a young one! It takes more than twenty-eight 
years of experience to ketch Cap’n Kidd!” And 
he sighed helplessly. 


170 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“But he’s fooled the old roosters, too,” Harry 
said, trying to encourage his friend, whose one 
desire was to capture that clever outlaw of the 
great Southwest. 

“That’s right,” Jack readily agreed, and he 
smiled a little. “Yes, in spite of the roosters the 
hawks git in. This makes us feel bad, an’ next 
time we watch sharper. Of course, you are ex- 
cusable under the circumstances, but I haven’t 
a sweetheart to turn my head. You see, Kid, 
it’s when the ol, rooster is courtin’ his gal, the 
hawks swoop down!” This was said in a manner 
to insinuate that Harry was “cutting out” the 
speaker. 

“Now, now, Jack,” Harry smiled; “you do 
me great injustice! Besides I wouldn’t know a 
hawk from a buzzard. It’s all right for you to 
crow over a poor tenderfoot.” 

“Takin’ Miss Maxwell in the deal,” Jack re- 
plied, “reckon I’m the tenderfoot, Kid!” 

“I don’t know about that, Jack.” Harry 
smiled. “Miss Maxwell thinks that the West is 
well up in the art of love-making — and a certain 
individual in particular!” 

Jack turned upon Hank: “Wait until Betsy 
hears of that!” 


THE RIVALS 


171 


“But I don’t happen to be the ‘certain indi- 
vidual in particular’,” Hank declared. “You 
happen to be it, Jack.” 

“Me? Git out! That apple pie has made you 
plumb loco ! Why, I ain’t got no more show than 
the man in the moon!” 

“Have any of us, Jack?” Harry smiled. 
“There must be the one back East, at college.” 

“You think so!” gasped Jack and Hank in one 
breath. 

“No doubt. Pretty girls always do,” Harry 
explained. 

“Kain’t we make her fergit the States?” sug- 
gested Hank. 

“Perhaps, for a time,” smiled Harry. 

“Thar’s some hope in that,” said Jack. “At 
least, fer a time.” 

“Boys,” declared Hank, “we’ve gotter make 
the most of it. What’s the matter ’bout takin’ 
turns? We orter go at it right. Be methodical 
in our courtin’.” 

Harry pulled up the team of bronchos : 
“Hank,” said he, “do you want to turn her head? 
She’d be so blamed stuck up — why, the idea! 
Don’t you know that woman glories in bringing 
man to his knees, you old tenderfoot? Why, if 


172 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


we three courted Miss Maxwell at the same time, 
she’d be so stuck up she wouldn’t look at one of 
us!” 

“You don’t say so!” Hank remonstrated, 
meekly. 

“Kin savvy, Hank?” said Jack. “The Kid’s 
an ole hand at the game!” 

“An’ me an’ you, Jack, had better practice up 
a bit! We ain’t got no show with him; he’ll skin 
us alive, shore,” Hank declared. 

“It’s well, then,” laughed Harry, “that I know 
my advantage!” 


Chapter XV 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 

Louise Brosseau, being an unfortunate child, 
at the age of two lost her mother. Her father 
became discouraged at this great loss, grew de- 
spondent and took to drinking. Louise was 
taken care of by her grandparents. 

Madam Rose Myrile, a dainty little French 
woman, conducted a respectable boarding-house, 
which Francis Brosseau — Louise’s father — pat- 
ronized when in Maxwell City. A feeling of 
friendship sprang up between them, and often- 
times she, when not too busy, would sit and talk 
with him while he was eating his meals. At the 
age of fourteen, Rose Myrile, the only daughter 
of a wealthy family, had been compelled to marry 
a titled man of France whom she abhorred. As 
she could not tolerate living with a man whom 
she did not love, she quietly ran away to America. 
Self-dependent, she started the little boarding- 
house, which was very successful. Many a cow- 
man rode miles out of his way to get a “square 


174 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


meal” at the popular road-house, and have the 
chance of a little chat with the polite little pro- 
prietress, whom they found always agreeable and 
pleasant. Francis Brosseau was tall, broad- 
shouldered, and very dark, yet his handsome face 
showed traces of sorrow, which the little, striking 
blond often noticed, and her sympathetic nature 
moved her to a more friendly and confidential 
relation than she had realized. Each day she 
would look forward to his coming; while he, on 
the other hand, felt disappointed if business kept 
him from town. 

He lost interest in his ranch, sold it, and went 
into business in town, boarcling at Madam 
Myrile’s, called by the cattlemen: “The Cowboys’ 
Home.” 

When Francis would not return to the “Home” 
after a day’s work, Madam Myrile knew the 
cause and just where to find him. Whenever 
on a spree, having too much respect and love for 
the Madam, he would not return to her till sober 
again, but stayed with his parents. He was not 
surprised at any time to hear her voice calling 
to him from the door; she was never admitted into 
the house, his folks blaming him because he lived 
at the “Home” and made her his common law 
wife. 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 175 


Thus she now stood, calling. His mother 
rushed out and tried to drive her away, and 
Francis staggered out. 

“Francis !” the Madam cried. “Oh, Francis, 
come homer’ 

He, always yielding to her pleadings, went 
back with her. They were true lovers in every 
sense of the word. He was able to provide for 
her and gave her everything she desired; but he 
was not able to stop drinking. 

“Francis, why you no marry me legally, and 
take your Louise to live with us? We should be 
very much happier,” she implored. 

“I am going to marry you, Rose, dear. Then 
you will be the mother you long to be to my little 
girl,” Francis replied, with a kiss. 

But the stronger-minded brother had a great 
influence over Francis, especially when not sober, 
and whenever the subject of marrying was ap- 
proached, he would always say to Francis: 
“What’s the use of marrying her, so long as you 
have lived with her so many years?” So Francis 
kept putting it off, and putting it off, with the 
promise to her that before long they would stand 
before a minister and take the marriage vows. 
But it was put off just once too often: he was 


170 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


killed in a runaway, and Rose, being self-de- 
pendent, went back again to the boarding-house. 
The old familiar faces began to appear once more. 

While her father was living, Louise was well 
taken care of by her grandparents, but after his 
death there came a sudden change. Louise’s 
mother had left two thousand dollars, in a note, 
in her father’s care. After his death the little 
Madam put the note in Colonel Maxwell’s hands, 
because the grandparents tried to get it. Louise 
was forbidden to tell the whereabouts of the note, 
and by keeping the secret, she was treated shame- 
fully. Often she was dragged from her bed and 
given a severe beating. She was not allowed to 
see Rose and seldom did see anyone who spoke 
a kind word to her. But there was one who 
braved the old Brosseau threats and, in spite of 
all, would see Louise. This was Ernest Moore, 
a man of about twenty, who worked at a neigh- 
boring ranch. He and Louise were very fond of 
each other since the first meeting, and he often 
made serious promises to her. After her father 
died, these happy lovers were forbidden by the 
grandparents to keep company, because the nig- 
gardly old folks knew that if their grandchild 
married, they would lose the money. 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 177 


May Maxwell, an old friend of Louise’s, in- 
curred the ill-will of the Brosseau family because 
she protected Louise. Louise would steal over 
to the Maxwell ranch to unburden her break- 
ing heart and receive consolation. 

“Remember, Louise,” May Maxwell would 
say, “they’re your grandparents and guardians, 
and as long as you live under their roof you must 
do as they say. But always try to be a Christian 
and you’ll come out victorious!” 

The Brosseaus observed that Louise generally 
came away from the Maxwell’s in better spirits, 
so they began to suspect that they had something 
to do with the concealment of the note, and pro- 
hibited her going there. 

Ernest was determined that his sweetheart 
should not be abused any longer, and tried to get 
the consent of her guardians to their marriage. 
He was refused, unless she gave up the note, 
which she absolutely would not do, and they 
threatened to put her in a reformatory to pre- 
vent her marrying quietly as long as she was 
under age. 

One night May Maxwell’s den door opened, 
and in rushed Louise, weak, exhausted, and al- 
most fainting. 


178 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“May! May! they’ve come with a wagon to 
take me away ! Can’t you protect me ? Do some- 
thing for me? Oh, help me! Where can I go! 
Hide me, hide me quickly 1” she cried. 

A loud knock sounded upon the door. Both 
of the women started. The door opened, in 
sprang Ernest Moore, caught Louise in his arms 
and disappeared in the darkness without. 

Meanwhile, the sheriff and his deputies 
searched Brosseau’s house from top to bottom, 
in every nook and corner; not finding the girl 
anywhere, Mrs. Brosseau, growing suspicious 
that the Maxwells had hidden the child, told the 
sheriff to inquire there. Barely had Ernest and 
Louise fled, when loud knocks were heard at the 
Maxwells’ door. They had been too quick for 
the sheriff, for all doors were barred, lights ex- 
tinguished and everything lifeless. Of course, 
he naturally suspected that the girl was pro- 
tected there, yet he did not dare to break in and 
so remained all night guarding the house to keep 
anyone from passing in or out. The Maxwells 
amusedly watched them from the darkened 
rooms, and they smiled when they thought of 
how the two lovers were making their escape in 
the meantime. 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 179 

The fugitives crawled on their hands and knees 
over snake and gopher holes for some hundred 
yards, stopping now and then to listen and rest. 
The hard ground bruised them severely; their 
clothes were badly torn as they crept under 
fences and the shrubbery which they could not 
avoid in the darkness, scratching their faces and 
hands until they bled. But all this was not 
heeded as much as the fear of being overtaken 
at any moment. 

Next morning the Colonel went out and 
smiled to himself as he walked quietly by the 
sheriff, who was asleep near the door. The 
officer awoke in due time and politely asked per- 
mission to search the house. 

“Certainly,” said May Maxwell. “Now, be 
sure and look everywhere — especially among my 
clothes, as Louise is only a tiny girl, and it would 
be an easy matter for her to hide in one of my 
skirts! But one thing let me tell you: remember 
that you have a little daughter, and how she is 
protected. So don’t be harsh with this child, who 
has not even a mother.” 

Later the Colonel found his daughter at her 
study table, her elbow resting upon it, and her 
head supported in her hand, as her vacant eyes 


180 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


fell on a letter lying before her. Then her head 
sank lower and lower as she burst into tears! 
“Well, well, ,, said the Colonel, “what is it, 
Daughter?” 

“Oh, read this, Father!” she exclaimed, holding 
out the letter to him. 

His face grew dark as he read the unprintable 
lines of a defamatory letter, which was not signed. 

“A blackmailer!” he exclaimed. “I’ll see Jack 
an’ mebbe he kin trace — ” 

“Father, don’t let him see the letter!” the 
daughter exclaimed. 

The Colonel hastened out. He found Jack in 
the bunk-house and told him about the letter. 

“Got the envelope, Colonel?” 

“Yes,” said the Colonel. He handed it to 
Jack. 

“The post-office stamp says this was mailed 
yesterday in town. That’s all we know at pres- 
ent,” said Jack. “You said the object seems to 
be to git you to pay money to stop it. If that’s 
the case, more letters will follow. In the mean- 
time, we must keep our eyes open. Of course, we 
easily suspect the Brosseaus, but we’ve got no 
proof, Colonel, an’ until we git some evidence 
we kain’t do much. The bes’ thing we kin do is 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 181 

to ketch the one puttin’ the letter into the mail- 
box.” 

“That’s right. You watch Brosseau’s house, 
an’ when anyone leaves it, follow him. We’ll 
teach the blackmailers a thing or two! They 
won’t stay here long.” 

“Kin I have Hank to help me?” 

“Certainly, certainly! Anyone you wish.” 

The Colonel called at the Brosseau ranch. “Is 
Mr. Brosseau in?” he asked. 

“No,” said Mrs. Brosseau. “What kin I do 
for you?” 

“What’s all this trouble about?” the Colonel 
demanded. 

“What trouble?” Mrs. Brosseau inquired, in- 
nocently. 

The Colonel stepped close to her, and said, 
“I ius’ warn you — don’t use the United States 
mails!” 

“How you dare accuse me writing dos letters!” 
snapped the irritated woman. 

The Colonel glanced at her with a wise ex- 
pression, as much as to say, “How do you hap- 
pen to know about the letters?” 

“I’m not accusin’ you; I’m only warnin’ you,” 
he answered insinuatingly. 


182 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Old man Brosseau called at the Maxwell City 
Bank to see the Colonel. “Well?” he said, curtly. 

“I van’t Louise,” Brosseau replied. “I’m her 
guardian.” 

“Guardian? Yes, and how fatherly you per- ? 
formed yore duties I The girl resents your treat- 
ment, sir.” 

“She’s very ungrateful. Haven’t I give her 
a home ever since her poor mudder die?” 

“Her father paid you well for her board. Now 
you’re tryin’ to git her note — all that she’s got 
in the world. Because she won’t tell you where 
it is, you — her guardian — want to put her into 
a reformatory for disobedience.” 

“Dey’re both under age und I object I” 

“It’s not the age that you object to, but the 
note I It’s safe enough, though 1” 

“You know where it iss?” Brosseau rose as he 
asked. 

“You’re askin’ a personal question.” 

“Ve’ll see vhat the law kin do ’bout makin’ you 
geeve up my grandchild! I coome to-morrow 
wid the sheriff,” said Brosseau, going out. He 
returned home unaware of Jack dogging his 
steps. 

That night Jack found the Colonel’s daughter 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 183 


in her little study reading “Hamlet.” “What 
success?” she asked. 

“Not any jus’ yet. 01’ Brosseau told the 
Colonel that the sheriff would pay him a visit 
to-morrow to git the girl.” 

“Do you think the Frenchman will get her?” 

“I don’t know ’bout it nowadays! But I’ve 
known the time when the sheriff would not even 
dare to officiate in such a case, an’ the French- 
man would have died with his boots on long ago ! 
Times are different now. Mebbe the sheriff kin 
lawfully take the girl. If we kin prove that 
Brosseau wrote them letters, he won’t have a 
ghost of a show!” 

“Jack, you’ve read the letter!” 

“It was my only clew.” 

After a short pause May remarked, “But, isn’t 
the spelling awful! Just see how he spelled 
‘decent’.” 

“ ‘D-e-s-e-n-t’,” spelled Jack, from the letter. 
“Well, how should it be spelled?” 

“ ‘D-e-c-e-n-t’.” 

“An’ ‘d-e-s-e-n-t’ doesn’t mean the same 
thing?” An inspiration dilated Jack’s eyes. 
“Then it’s easy!” smiled he, and hurried out to 
join Hank, who was watching Brosseau’s house. 


184 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

“Anybody movin’ ?” Jack asked. “I’m goin’ 
to have a talk with Mr. Brosseau, if I kin git 
past the bull-dog. Well go together into the 
yard an’ if Mr. Bull-dog gits too familiar, well 
do the bes’ we kin an’ let him off as easy as pos- 
sible. Then 111 go into the house an’ you peek 
through the windows. Oh, thar’s the ol’ lady 
jus’ lettin’ down the shade. Well both go in. 
You remember the time we had in the rustler’s 
cabin? 01’ Grizzly had us a-guessin’, didn’t he?” 

“I shorely thought we was in fer it,” said 
Hank. “Here comes Mister Bull-dog. Got any 
salt to throw on his tail?” 

The dog came at them with savage snarls. 
Jack thrust out a stick at him and the brute 
fastened his fangs upon it with the tenacity of 
grip that when lifted into the air the unyielding, 
stubborn beast still held on, as it was swung 
bodily over Jack’s head. There was a heavy thud 
and a sharp yelp. • The bull-dog lay on the 
ground! 

“Nobudy’s got any business lettin’ such a dog 
run loose,” said Hank. “It serves the ol’ man 
right! Say, won’t he be mad!” 

“Sh!” said Jack, “somebudy’s cornin’ out!” 

“Who’s there?” Old Brosseau called. 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 185 


“Come on, let’s go,” said Hank in a low 
whisper. 

They hurried away with Brosseau almost on 
their heels. He stumbled over something, and 
they heard his angry curses. 

“He’s found his bull-dog,” said Hank. “Glad 
he kain’t git our range, or we’d shorely git a 
fusillade.” 

The next morning Brosseau rode over to the 
Maxwell ranch. “Iss the Colonel in?” he de- 
manded, crossly. 

“He’s not in,” replied Daisy, the housekeeper. 

“Iss Jack Morris ’round?” 

“Possibly you might find him in the bunk- 
house. Good morning,” she said, closing the 
door. 

He walked toward his broncho with a deep 
scowl. When he knocked at the mess-house, 
Betsy opened the door. 

“Iss the ‘young detective’ in?” he asked, sar- 
castically. 

“The who?” Betsy questioned with a puzzled 
air. 

“Jack Morris. Iss he in the house?” 

“Yes. Would you like to see him?” 

“I wouldn’t ask if I no wanted to see him!” 
Brosseau snapped. 


180 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Wall, mister, you kain’t see him if you don’t 
know yore manners ! Oh, yes, to be shore, you’re 
the feller who lives by blackmailin’ hones’ folks,” 
accused Betsy, and she slammed the door in his 
face. 

Presently Jack came out. He could barely 
keep a straight face because he surmised what was 
coming. 

“You near my house last night?” sourly de- 
manded the Frenchman. 

Jack observed that Brosseau had been studying 
his tracks, and he replied with a quizzical smile: 
“Why, I believe I was. You didn’t happen to 
fin’ my knife around, did you?” 

“Yes, an’ I’m goin’ to keep it for evidence for 
killing my thoroughbred bull-dog! Vhat you 
zay for yourself — eh!” 

“You’re right; he was a perty good bull-dog. 
Had lots of stick in him! Nex’ time, ol’ man, 
keep yore bull-dog chained an’ he won’t git into 
trouble.” 

“Who was wid you?” 

“I jus’ kain’t remember.” He turned inno- 
cently to Hank, who had joined them. “Do you 
know what fellers was away from the ranch las’ 
night?” 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 187 


“Why, let me see. Thar was me an’ you — ” 

“You’re the perpetrators! I’ll have — ” 

“What’s that?” Hank demanded. “No feller 
kin call me a name I kain’t savvy. Say, give 
me a definition, you Frenchman!” 

“Monsieur Brosseau,” said Jack, “we came to 
pay you a visit, an’ yore thoroughbred bull-dog 
seemed to object. I’m very sorry — ” 

“You’ll pay me vone hundred dollars fer him, 
or — ” 

“We’re not buying carcasses jus’ now,” said 
Jack. “Is that all you wish to see me ’bout?” 

“Vhat you vant last night?” Brosseau asked, 
submissively. 

“I wanted to see you ’bout yore grandchild.” 

“Vhat beeziness iss dot of yours?” 

“I’m simply warnin’ you, because when I’ve 
proven that you wrote them dirty letters, they 
will be sufficient to give you a taste of the ‘pen.’ 
If you’ll still insist in exercisin’ yore grand- 
fatherly guardianship over yore grandchild, 
you’ll wish you was back in gay Paree!” 

“You fools dink I wrote letters of malicious 
sort. You’ve been circulating false reports of 
me, und I shall zue the Colonel and all of you for 
zlander!” 

“You’d better start right away!” said Jack. 


188 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Arriving in town Jack and Hank found old 
Brosseau at the sheriff’s office. 

“What’s all this trouble about. Jack?” the 
sheriff asked. 

Jack gave an account of the situation. 

“You suspect Mr. Brosseau?” the sheriff asked. 

“Ask him to spell,” Jack suggested. 

“I no have to spell for you!” Brosseau said to 
Jack. 

Jack turned quickly upon him. “Then you’ll 
have to explain certain things afore a jury! An’ 
mebbe that jury won’t be as good a speller as 
you!” 

“Come, come, Mr. Brosseau,” said the sheriff; 
“shorely you won’t object to such an easy matter. 
Why should you be afraid to spell?” 

Jack gave him five or six words. Then he 
said, “Spell ‘decent.’ ” 

“ ‘D-e-s-e-n-t’,” Brosseau spelled. 

A triumphant smile crossed Jack’s face, and 
he handed the sheriff the letter, saying: “He spelt 
that word the very same in this!” 

“Vhat!” Brosseau raged, springing up. 

“Wait a minute, Brosseau,” said the sheriff. 
He read the letter and his face darkened. “I’m 
afraid it’ll go hard with you before the jury. 
(TO have to detain you.” 


IN THE STATE OF CORRUPTION 189 


“Dese iss vone outrage!” Brosseau exclaimed. 

“You’ll think so afore the Colonel gits through 
with you,” said J ack. “Sheriff, I’ll see you later. 
So long!” 

“So long, Frenchie,” said Hank, “we’ll see you 
later.” 

Brosseau glared vindictively after them, mut- 
tering incoherent phrases. 

Near midnight, two armed, masked men tied 
their bronchos and a wild mustang near the jail, 
forced open the door, gagged, bound and carried 
Brosseau to the wild mustang, upon whose bare 
back he was securely lashed. The men then 
mounted their saddled horses, and led the wild 
mustang about ten miles toward the mountains, 
where it was given its liberty with a sharp cut 
with a quirt. Away galloped the frightened 
animal, with its human load, wrenching a groan 
from Brosseau at every stride! 

When the hoof -beats died away, the masked 
men turned their bronchos and silently returned. 

It was suspected that Jack and Hank were 
the masked men; but it was never proven. 

Howbeit, the perpetrators inflicted a terrible 
punishment upon the blackmailer, and they were 
satisfied that it was an awful revenge! 


Chapter XVI 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 

When the whiskey revived Brosseau, his dor- 
mant senses awakened with a start, and his heavy 
eyes perceived Captain Kidd beside him. With 
a frightened stare and a half-smothered cry he 
attempted to rise; but sank back again with a 
groan. The Captain gave him another swallow. 
Presently the stimulant excited vital activity, 
and the circle of outlaws drew nearer to learn 
the cause of a man being bound to the bare back 
of a wild mustang and sent forth to die. In 
weak and broken utterance the story was told. 

“So you think it’s some of Colonel Maxwell’s 
game?” Captain Kidd questioned, with a vindic- 
tive inclination. 

Brosseau cursed the Colonel and swore to be 
revenged. Thus, a few days later he joined the 
renegades. Accordingly they laid plans and 
Brosseau returned home at once to make ready 
his ranch to secrete the band. Hence, it would 
afford them an excellent hiding place from which 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


191 


operations could be deftly performed. Captain 
Kidd explicitly warned Brosseau about retaliat- 
ing insults, and urged him to go meekly about 
his ranch and work as if he were thoroughly 
cowed. 

Upon arriving home, details were immediately 
consigned to carry on the game. 

“Say,” said Hank to Jack, as they met at 
the supper table, “seen the Frenchman this after- 
noon. Jus’ a-comin’ from his ranch.” 

“Was he glad to see you?” Jack asked. 

“Not overjoyed. Seemed to be plumb bash- 
ful — kinder gave me the hull trail to myself.” 

“Hank,” said Jack, simply, “watch out fer 
him when it’s dark!” 

“Wonder how he got off’n that hoss?” Hank 
asked. 

“That’s what’s a-stickin’ in my craw,” ad- 
mitted Jack, meditatively drumming the plate 
with his fork. “But, he’s here — shore — an’ I 
don’t like it — not a little bit!” 

“You kain’t never always sometimes tell what 
a Frenchman is liable to do,” Hank declared 
persuasively, 

A man burst breathless into the mess-house. 
“I’ve seen Cap’n Kidd!” he announced. 


m A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

“Whar!” exclaimed everyone, rising excitedly 
from the table. 

“In my store !” answered the new-comer. “He 
come in an’ throws down a hundred dollar bill. 
Says he, ‘Kin you change it, pard?’ 

“ ‘A hundred dollars !’ says I. ‘Why, if I had a 
hundred dollars to my name, do you think I’d 
stay in this here dump?’ ” 

“He was a-tryin’ to feel you out,” said Jack. 

“Shore. ‘Do you know my title?’ says he, 
a-leanin’ acrost the counter, with his gun almost 
’gainst my bread-basket. 

“ ‘Nope,’ says I. 

“ ‘Cap’n Kidd, of Arizona,’ says he, confiden- 
tial like. 

“An’ I almos’ fell through the floor — in fact, 
I would’ve liked to! An’ says I, ‘You’re shore 
welcome to all I’ve got: It’s in the seegar box.’ 

“He helped himself to it, an’ says, says he, 
‘Don’t be too over-anxious to publish our first 
acquaintance, ’cause I’ll be liable to come back 
soon an’ renew it in a way whar friends mus’ 
part. Savvy?’ 

“Then he give me a terrible look an’ vamosed.” 

Dispatched riders quickly spread the news, and 
in a short time a large posse rode forth. But 
it returned wornout and dejected. 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


193 


“Well,” grinned Brosseau, “two dollars a day 
iss no bad, und as vee no see the Cap’n und no 
keer to — vee jus’ keep on a-ridin’ und a-ridin’!” 

“That’s all right, Frenchie,” sneered Hank, 
“but that’s all a Frenchman’s good fer!” 

Instead of making an angry reply Brosseau 
submissively withstood the taunt. 

“That Frenchman’s liver is plumb white!” 
Hank contemptuously derided, joining Jack. 

“Watch out fer him when it’s dark!” Jack re- 
plied, as before. 

At the supper table Hank began to plague 
Jack and Harry about May Maxwell. 

Jack arose and turned to Harry: “Kid,” he 
said, “when thar’s two women to one man in this 
big, big world, why does every girl have two 
lovers? It’s always so.” 

“Jus’ to make it more interestin’, Jack, I 
reckon,” Harry replied, lightly. 

As Jack was leading the way out, a flash of 
light grazed his side! The metallic thud in- 
stantly brought forth three six-shooters. The 
men instinctively knew that a big bowie-knife 
quivered in the door jamb and their eyes searched 
the darkness, then the trio retreated within the 
room and slammed the door. Jack quickly ex- 


194 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

tinguished the light. Then joined the others at 
the window. No object relieved their straining 
eyes ; everything lay calmly quiescent in the 
moonlight. 

“A perty close shave,” Harry remarked. “In 
an unguarded moment you’re liable to git caught, 
Jack.” 

“I know it, Kid,” Jack admitted. “But a 
feller in love is always foolish!” 

“Good thing that dang knife-thrower was 
bashful ’bout bein’ seen,” Hank declared. 
“Whew! you kin hear a gun or see its smoke, but 
a knife — Gee! it makes shivers go up my back!” 

“Didn’t I tell you, Hank, ‘watch out when it’s 
dark’?” said Jack. 

“Seems to me you did, Jack — now that I 
recollect. I think we’d better go over an’ make 
Frenchie a visit — after dark!” 

They dismounted near Brosseau’s ranch house 
and cautiously crawled on their hands and knees 
toward it. A flash of lightning illumined the 
eastern horizon and a low rumbling of thunder 
followed. Then it began to sprinkle. Heavy 
clouds soon completely obscured the mountains 
and wrapped the valley in mist. The men 
crouched against the house for shelter and pro- 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


199 


tection. The lightning flashed again and again! 
The thunder crashed and boomed and rolled in 
the mountains! The large rain-drops increased. 
A door slammed and the men crouched closer. 
Then the blanket was drawn back from the win- 
dow and they saw a face within the faint light 
peering out. They caught their breath. But 
the light feebly penetrated the darkness and was 
lost in the torrents of water, which beat in sheets 
against the window, and the wind whistled and 
moaned through the casing. 

“Wow! listen to the firmaments !” they heard a 
voice at the window and they knew that it was 
Brosseau’s. 

The blanket fell. As it was dark once more, 
Jack knocked out a pane of glass with the butt 
of his six-shooter. With a mighty gust the wind 
burst through, the blanket flapped, and the light 
flickered. Immediately ready hands within 
caught the lower corners of the blanket and 
held it firmly. Brosseau called for a hammer 
and nails. In a short time the blanket was 
securely fastened, making temporary repair. 

Through the blinding fury sounded the plain- 
tive neigh of a horse. Quickly the light went 
out. Inside it was perfectly quiet. Brosseau 


196 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

prudently peeped from behind the blanket and 
in the play of the lightning he thought that he 
discovered fleeting forms. But on such a night 
he was not positive. Nevertheless he involun- 
tarily dropped to the floor and wormed his way 
from the wall. 

“What’s up?” came a whisper a few feet from 
the left. 

Brosseau instinctively tightened his grip on 
his six-shooter. Recognizing the voice, he told 
of his apprehension. 

“That’s what you git fer throwin’ knives! 
Didn’t I warn you?” 

“Veil, Cap’n Kidd,” Brosseau meekly ac- 
knowledged, “I jus’ couldn’t help it! I hate 
’em!” 

The Captain cursed him for a fool, and added, 
“Well, it’s done. They’ll watch this place like 
a cat after a rat. It ain’t the rain that busted 
that window. I’ve got to git out of here an’ 
plumb lively. An’ ain’t this a perty night to 
travel!” 

Thus Captain Kidd’s band of wet and haggard 
men surprised the “Lazy I” ranch the following 
morning and took possession. They rested there 
all day and departed after dark with fresh horsey 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


197 


taken from the corral. The owner bitterly re- 
sented the theft and quickly reported his loss. 

Captain Kidd retreated into the foothills of 
Black Peak, with the cattlemen hot on his trail. 
They cursed the falling darkness and camped, 
impatient for the expected battle of to-morrow. 

From surrounding hills burned signal fires; 
that Apache Kidd had stirred up the Indians 
was evident. To take their notorious chief would 
mean bloodshed, and although the cattlemen were 
all deadly shots and reckless to the last deed, 
they knew that it would be good policy to await 
re-enforcements. The braves were heavily armed, 
had a big supply of ammunition, and they would 
fight to the death! Hence, in the veil of night 
the cattlemen stealthily withdrew. 

The next day Captain Kidd took up a strong 
position, with his back on the brim of a deep 
precipice; he could not be attacked from the 
rear, owing to the steep walls of the gorge; and, 
in the face of a charge, his men must either repel 
it or be swept back into the gulch! These con- 
ditions, the crafty chief knew, would spur his 
men to fight to the last — they would have no 
alternative! To his further satisfaction small 
bands of Indians continually joined him during 


198 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


the day. Thus darkness closed hostile prepara- 
tions. 

In the morning, a small band of Indians join- 
ing them, reported that they had been fired upon 
by a party of cattlemen. At once arose the spirit 
of the warpath! Captain Kidd warned his 
brothers of walking into a trap. “The pale- 
faces,” said he, conclusively, “are like the leaves 
of a big forest! Thar guns are long an’ never 
stop shootin’. To go to ’em is like the helpless 
deer at a lick. But the deer has legs and runs 
fast — let the hunters come to us!” 

But “the hunters” did not appear, and Tony 
Hart, a half-breed, came to Captain Kidd and 
advised him that the braves were becoming rest- 
less and uneasy. 

“All right, lootenant,” said the Captain, “take 
a dozen or two an’ see what devilment you kin 
stir up.” 

Consequently, Tony Hart sallied forth with 
twenty braves thirsting for plunder and life. 
Appearing suddenly in a peaceful valley an old 
rancher was captured. This aroused the old lust 
for blood. 

The situation became critical. Fearing for 
their lives, neighboring ranchers fled from their 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


199 


homes, leaving them to the torch. Ed Max- 
well hastily organized a strong posse and started 
in pursuit of the renegades, who would dash 
from the hills, wound and kill, and then quickly 
retreat into them. Thus homes were deserted 
and their destruction easy. 

But on one occasion a posse managed to slip 
between a small band of Indians and the moun- 
tains and a hot fight ensued. The Indians took 
refuge in a ranch house, and returned a hot fire 
with their trusty Spencer repeaters. During the 
skirmish the house burst into flames. The smoke 
became so dense that marksmanship was difficult, 
so the posse lay in a shallow ditch to wait for the 
smoke to clear away. Presently a larger band 
of Indians, drawn by the firing, appeared on the 
scene, and in the fight the ones in the house fled. 
The braves then retreated slowly toward the 
hills, stubbornly resisting every foot of ground, 
and drawing the cattlemen toward their strong- 
hold. Casualties occurred on both sides. The 
Indians carried their wounded with them into 
the hills. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon Jack 
Morris halted the posse. “Thar’s white men with 
’em up thar an’ we’d better wait fer help.” So 


200 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


they bivouacked without a single camp-fire for 
the night. Hank was sent to guide the re-en- 
forcements. 

As they were about to turn in, Jack turned to 
Harry Western and said: “Say, Kid, if we git 
the Cap’n this trip — if we do — ” Jack hesitated, 
with an ambiguous sigh and fell to gazing at the 
stars. 

When Ed Maxwell, heading a strong posse of 
cattlemen, joined them, the united forces pushed 
forward. 

During the night a heavy fall of snow com- 
pletely covered the trail in the hills. It made 
progress extremely tedious. The men were out 
of sorts; as they sluggishly toiled upward, it 
galled them to feel that while they groped along, 
they were being watched by Indian scouts. 

“Kid,” said Jack, “keep yore eyes peeled fer 
brown berries which grow under evergreen brush. 
Thar’s liable to be a feather or two besides!” 

Thus, Harry Western, perseveringly atten- 
tive, discovered a pair of brown, glistening “ber- 
ries.” His Winchester covered the spot and five 
of the posse pulled out an Indian spy, who, how- 
ever, would not tell of Captain Kidd’s rendez- 
vous. Then Ed Maxwell ordered a rope thrown 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


201 


over the limb of a pine tree and the brave dan- 
gled in the air, kicking frantically and clawing 
desperately at the rope at his neck The posse 
remained grimly relentless. When almost un- 
conscious he was lowered and again commanded 
to tell. 

He struggled between native pretension of 
indifference to bearing pain without betraying 
feeling and the desire to live — because to divulge 
the hiding place would only mean a battle, and the 
Indians were heavily entrenched and had every 
advantage — yet, he despised to yield to the pale- 
faces, and again was strung up. His breath came 
in short convulsions and as his head began to 
swim he gasped, “Injun tell !” He was lowered 
again, the noose loosened, and he feebly accepted 
the proffered whiskey flask. The important 
facts forced from him greatly assisted the cattle- 
men. Thence they advanced in better spirits. 

Under cover of the darkness Hank again went 
back for more help. The prospect of the com- 
ing fight and capture stirred the blood. The 
hope of the reward for Captain Kidd’s body, 
dead or alive, spurred the plainsmen on. There- 
fore, while they took up a strong position to 
await re-enforcements, they stormed and fretted 


202 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


under the delay. Why not push on and crush 
the renegades? Wouldn’t they know of the 
large army and scatter in the hills? But Ed 
Maxwell remained firm, instead of taking 
chances. 

Jack and Harry were absent on a scouting 
tour; the time of their return was overdue, so 
in the night twenty men left camp and stole 
away, warily alert for ambuscades. 

Two days later one of them returned to camp 
and reported to Ed Maxwell that Captain 
Kidd’s band had scattered through the hills, 
making pursuit very difficult. A council was 
held to discuss the probability of an invasion of 
the hills. Would it be wise to endeavor to cap- 
ture each fugitive, thus breaking up the plains- 
men likewise and creating a man for man hunt? 

“Jack rabbits shore make plenty tracks,” said 
an old plainsman, “but it’s a darn sight easier to 
jus’ happen to come upon ’em than track ’em 
down! An’, too, while we’re huntin’ fer ’em up 
here, the valley’s unprotected an’ the Kidd might 
take advantage of it to kill the women!” 

The men glanced at each other in a manner 
which implied that such a calamity was likely to 
happen, but in their eagerness to overtake Cap- 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


203 


tain Kidd they had been abstracted. All the best 
gun- fighters had joined the posse and conse- 
quently the ranches were left unguarded. Hence, 
it was concluded that Ed Maxwell and thirty 
men go in search of Harry Western and Jack 
Morris, while the rest return, with the Indian 
spy, to the valley as speedily as possible. 

Although Harry and Jack had exchanged 
their high-heeled riding boots for moccasins, their 
trail, showing the prints of footsteps in the snow, 
where the weight was too much on the heels and 
the toes too squared to be that of an Indian, was 
readily followed by the little band of twenty 
frontiersmen who had left in search of them, 
and the trail of the frontiersmen’s twenty horses’ 
hoof-prints was taken up in turn by Ed Maxwell 
and his company of thirty resolute comrades. 

Upon overtaking the party, Ed Maxwell 
learned that Jack’s trail was lost, there being 
little snow and rocky surface. Therefore the 
united band simply followed the brim of the gorge 
in hopes of discovering some trace. 

Thus, from a certain point, Jack Morris, 
glasses in hand, was seen standing calmly on a 
ledge of rock in bold relief against the misty sur- 
rounding wall of the canyon. Quickening their 


204 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

pace they continued around the brim. A little 
later they joined him. 

“Whar’s the Kid?” asked Ed. 

“Which Kid? Apache or Harry?” 

“Both, if you know.” 

“Harry’s back yonder, watchin’ my rear. As 
fer Apache Kidd — the devil only knows — I don’t! 
He camped here. Must ’ve found out that we 
was too many fer him an’ so he’s scattered 
through the hills. We’ll have a lovely time 
roundin’ ’em up!” 

“If we could only have shoved him down thar!” 
lamented one old cattleman, peering over the 
brim of the steep precipice. 

“He wouldn’t even be fit fer mince meat,” de- 
clared another at his side. Silently they con- 
tinued to gaze down into the canyon. 

“Whar’s the rest of the men, Ed?” Jack asked. 
“Followin’ the river below?” 

Ed Maxwell then explained the reason why 
they had returned to the valley. 

“An’ we’ll have to let Apache Kidd slip 
through?” Jack protested. 

“Not if we kin help it!” answered several at 
once. 

As they bivouacked that night, Jack said to 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


20 $ 


Harry: “Kid, I reckon we’r« on a wild goose 
chase again!” 

***** 

In a darkened room of Brosseau’s shack sat 
Apache Kidd, carefully cleaning his brace of 
deadly six-shooters. Against the wall at his 
right leaned a big repeating Winchester. Pres- 
ently he critically tested the action of each Colt’s, 
replaced them in their holsters at his thighs and 
limped to the door, where he peeped through a 
little hole bored for the purpose. His face was 
haggard, his eyes blood-shot, but still the fierce- 
ness burned within them ! 

On entering the room Brosseau started back 
with a sharp exclamation of surprise. The Cap- 
tain was supposed to be surrounded in the hills. 
How was it that he now was here? 

“Wall?” the Kidd demanded, in a guarded 
tone. 

“You’ve fooled ’em all right,” said Brosseau, 
“fooled ’em slick as a vheestle!” 

“An’ now, Frenchie,” concluded the clever 
renegade, “if you’ll be kind enough to cut out the 
knife throwin’ act, I’ll honor you with my highly 
esteemed company.” He hobbled to his Win- 


206 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

Chester, picked it up and sat down again on the 
box. “Have you got anythin’ fer a sprained 
ankle?” he asked perversely. 

“Some goot leenamint, Cap’n.” 

“Wall, why do you stan’ thar fer! Why don’t 
you git it!” 

When Brosseau had disappeared the Chief 
sighed perfunctorily. “Nowadays one’s vassals 
ain’t worth two hurrahs! 

“An’ why, O chief — King of the Mountains, 
Ruler of Blood-suckers, dost thou love thy 
Greatness! Thy throne is the eagle’s nest, thy 
kingdom far below thee. Make ready the feast! 
We’ll eat, drink an’ be merry, fer to-morrow we 
— Say, Frenchie, is that the way thou bringst 
wine to the king!” 

“It ain’t vine, Cap’n, it’s leenamint.” 

The renegade sprang up and snatched the 
bottle, crying, “But it kin be drank!” 

The terrified Frenchman struggled to hold 
the bottle from the Chief’s lips. “It keel you, 
Cap’n, it keel you dead!” he pleaded. 

The Captain sank wearily back on the box. As 
the bandage was unwound from his swollen foot, 
he sighed weakly. “Didn’t King David say, 
Frenchie, ‘Gather not thy soul with sinners, nor 
thy fife with bloody men’?” 


ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE 


207 


The bandage fell from Brosseau’s trembling 
hands and he gazed nonplussed into the face of 
the fanatic outlaw. “Dey got some Injuns, 
Cap’n,” said he, “but no you!” 

The Captain grinned self -indulgently. “So, 
the prize bird has flew the coop — eh, Frenchie?” 

“Dey are so tarn mat, Cap’n, dat dey kain’t 
see straight!” Brosseau laughed. 

A song of Captain Kidd’s exploits had been 
composed in the past, and, gloating over his suc- 
cessful maneuvers, he now sang exultant 
snatches : 

“ ‘Oh, this Cap’n played havoc, boys, 

With Uncle Sammy’s mail; 

But what’s the use of hunting 
When the bandit left no trail? 

* “Oh, the sheriff he went noodly, 

And the blood-hounds they were sad, 

This man they lynched in effigy, 

They were so very mad! 

“ ‘This Apache was a daisy, boys; 

He never left a track; 

But where he hides it is a joke — 

The drinks are on you, Jack!’ ” 


208 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Sh!” warned Brosseau, “dey’ll hear!” 

“Them tenderfeet couldn’t track an elephant 
in two feet of snow!” sneered the fugitive, and 
he spat contemptuously at a cockroach crawling 
up the dusty wall. 


Chapter XVII 


WHEREBY ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS 

The night was warm and balmy; the leaves 
sighed softly overhead and the old cottonwood 
trees in the Maxwell ranch yard looked more 
majestic than ever in the bright moonlight. The 
monotonous chirp of the cricket, the spooky hoot 
of the owl and the conglomeration of weird 
sounds arising from the plains did not disturb 
either May Maxwell, who sat on a bench under 
the tree playing her guitar, or Jack Morris, who 
stood near, keeping time with his foot to the sweet 
strains. The favorite selections brought back to 
her fond memories of college days and seemed 
to transform the untamed surroundings into the 
campus. Around the corner of the house peeped 
Ed Maxwell’s large, grey eyes, and he impul- 
sively clutched the big sombrero behind him! 

Finally the song ended in a long-drawn chord 
and Jack glanced admiringly at May. Then 
he walked to the olla suspended from the porch 
roof, filled the tin dipper with a cool draught and 


210 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


returned with it. Thanldng him she drank the 
refreshing water. 

After a silence he ventured: “Isn’t the moon 
glorious! Did you ever see it appear so large 
before?” 

“Like all things of the West,” she smiled, “it 
is twice as large. Things are big-hearted here. 
Back East they seem to be more crabbed. Even 
the moon — and the air — the life!” 

They lapsed into silence. A gentle gust of 
wind stirred the leaves overhead and with a faint 
sigh May began to play the dreamy strains of “A 
Spanish Cavalier.” After a few measures of 
the rhythmic strains the notes grew bolder, and 
unconsciously his voice blended in low refrain. 
They sang the second verse and repeated the 
chorus. As they began the third stanza his voice 
swelled and he happened to glance toward her. 
Without wavering he continued, gaining con- 
fidence with each bar. Before his irrepressible 
voice hers quite naturally dropped and he sang 
again the chorus: 

“Say, darling, say, when I am far away, 

Say that sometimes you’ll think of me, dear. 

The bright, sunny days will soon pass away — 
Remember what I say, and be true, dear.” 


WHEREB Y ACTIONS SPEAK LO UDER 211 


A heart-rending cry pierced the balmy air! 
The girl instinctively clutched Jack’s arm. “Oh!” 
she cried. 

“Only a kyute,” he laughed. 

A horse neighed and a little colt answered in- 
nocently. 

“Isn’t it picturesque!” May ardently ex- 
claimed. “ Doesn’t the very air make one feel 
that it’s good to live! ” 

Her fingers wandered idly over the strings, 
and beautiful chords floated softly on the night 
air. The two remained silent in dreamy medita- 
tion. 

Presently he looked up. “But on a night like 
this,” he smiled, “don’t you miss the States?” 

She became suddenly pensive. “Yes, I do,” 
she confessed. “I miss some things very much. 
But, otherwise, I’m entirely satisfied. And, why 
should I complain now?” 

“Still, there’s something lacking, isn’t there?” 

“I fear that I’m too ambitious,” she admitted. 

“That so?” he mused, and lapsed into silence. 
“But, you’ve entirely lost the sentiment.” 

“The sentiment? Of what?” 

“I don’t blame you, though. I fear that I’m 
a yery poor poet.” 


212 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Don’t you think your qualities will manifest 
themselves in time?” she encouraged. 

“Well,” said he, sitting beside her, “there may 
be hope.” 

“Then don’t give up the ship, Jack — please.” 

He flashed her a confidential smile. “Not 
while the mate stands by my side!” he replied. 

Again the coyote’s heart-rending cry pierced 
the air. The girl broke off shortly and stared 
around. 

“There goes the poetry!” Jack complained, 
helplessly, turning toward the direction whence 
came the intruding sound. 

“Isn’t it mournful?” the girl exclaimed. 

“What? The poetry?” smiled Jack. 

The rasping “K-awh! K-awh!” of a mule broke 
the temporary tranquility. Jack arose: “Would 
you not prefer to be in yore den?” he asked. 

“Sit in the house on such a night as this!” she 
protested. 

“Don’t you really miss the States?” Jack 
asked, glancing around. “This is so different.” 

“Of course, in a way. Yet, to me the fantastic 
always appeals.” 

“But I’m shore you were a social lion!” he 
flashed. 


W HEREBY ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER 213 


“A social lion? Have 'you ever heard me 
roar?” she smiled. 

He dropped his eyes and faltered, “Not — not 
as much as yore countenance. It’s ferocious!” 

“I thought I was smiling,” she replied, with 
assumed astonishment. 

“Social lions always capture their prey with 
smiles,” he adroitly but gently admonished. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, straightening a little. 
“They do? Really, you must have been in a 
den! And how did you escape without being 
torn to pieces?” Her smile deepened, her dark 
eyes sparkled, and she continued: “I’ll wager, 
like Daniel you simply closed their savage 
mouths!” 

“Don’t you think that this is rather a barren 
jungle for a famished lion?” he smiled. Ap- 
proaching footsteps caused Jack to hesitate. Ed 
Maxwell joined them, and the subject was 
changed. 

At breakfast the next day the “Coo! coo!” of 
Senora doves caused May to make some remark 
about them. 

“Thar’s a pair of anuther kind of doves a-cooin’ 
’round this outfit — eh, Ed?” winked the Colonel. 

But the glare Ed gave and the pretty blush 
that May endeavored to hide were deplorable 1 


Chapter XVIII 


A RUN ON THE BANK 

The deposits of the Maxwell City bank had 
increased satisfactorily and the Colonel rubbed 
his hands, smiling contentedly as he looked over 
the balance sheet. “William,” said he to the 
teller, “from present indications, well have to buy 
another safe.” 

William. — who was none other than “our old 
friend Bill Upton of Shecawgo,” smiled assur- 
edly and said, “I believe that we can spare some 
gold. Why not have a correspondent at Phoe- 
nix?” 

“Don’t open too big an account, William; 
keep a good reserve here : the bank is very young 
and we mus’ always be ready to meet a run. It’s 
different back East whar you kin ask a dozen 
banks fer aid. But here — this bein’ the only 
financial institution — in case of emergency, what 
could we do? Why, in case of trouble, the cus- 
tomers would rush in here like a herd of stam- 
pedin’ ‘cows’! If we couldn’t pay when they de- 
manded thar money, what would happen?” 


A RUN ON THE BANK 


21S 


William replied that he would prefer to bs 
elsewhere. 

“So would I!” declared the big cattleman 
tersely. “That’s the very reason I only allow 
you to loan fifty per cent., an’ advertise how 
strong we run. It’s a big ad, William, a big adi” 

“For robbers?” William proffered, sugges- 
tively. 

“Tut! tut! man, they won’t fool ’round this 
bank; it’s too risky.” 

They were interrupted by a customer, who de- 
posited a good sum of money. When he went 
out the Colonel turned again toward the teller. 
“Yes, sir, William, we’ll have to buy a new safe! 
Jus’ see how the money comes rollin’ in. We’ve 
got a good start an’ we’ll push this thing right 
along!” 

William remarked that it certainly was en- 
couraging. “Say, Colonel,” he added, mechan- 
ically fingering some negotiable papers, “Fifer’s 
note of five hundred dollars falls due to-morrow. 
Shall I insist that he pay it? It will be the third 
renewal.” 

“Didn’t Brosseau sign it with him?” 

“Yes; and I’m afraid that he’ll have to pay it.” 

“I don’t like this signin’ other people’s obliga- 


216 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


tions,” remarked the Colonel. “It’s all very well 
as long as thar met. But when the signer is called 
upon to fork up, thar’s always trouble.” 

Thus when Brosseau appeared at the bank he 
absolutely refused to settle the note. “I no git 
the money,” he argued. “Fifer’s got to pay.” 

“Why did you put yore signature to this paper, 
then?” demanded the Colonel. “Fer fun?” 

“It no my note,” stubbornly persisted the 
Frenchman. 

“Shore, it is, Mr. Brosseau; here’s yore name 
— right here!” 

“Vail, I no pay!” 

“You won’t! Well, we’ll see! I’ll give you jus’ 
three days — seventy- two hours!” 

Judgment was at once entered against Bros- 
seau. 

“He’ll pay, William, he’ll pay,” smiled the 
Colonel, rubbing his hands. “We’re not wor- 
rying not a bit! Let him play ass awhile — it’s 
a-costin’ him ten per cent an’ costs, jus’ the same! 
I reckon his ranch an’ outfit are worth perty 
near five hundred — don’t you? Oh, you bet! 
That note’s good as gold! It’s all hunky an’ will 
bring fifty dollars ‘loans and discounts’ per an- 
num.” 

Then his manner became more serious: “But, 


A RUN ON THE BANK 


217 


the point’s this: Mr. Brosseau — whatever his 
social qualities may be — is solid financially, an’ 
we’ve made him angry — he’s taken a personal 
grudge against this bank now. That’s why 
I dislike our customers to ask another to sign 
their notes with ’em. Now, Brosseau’s taken 
away his account, an’ it was no fault of ours.” 

The following day Brosseau came in the bank 
to pay the judgment. 

“Now, now, Mr. Brosseau,” the Colonel softly 
spoke, laying his hand on the indignant signer’s 
arm, “what’s the good of gittin’ all riled up over 
this? It isn’t our fault at all.” 

“It’s ver’ hard to pay fer someding you no 
owe,” whined the Frenchman, watching the 
teller skillfully counting the gold he had reluc- 
tantly placed on the counter. 

“Yore name’s on the note an’ we loaned good 
money on it,” persisted the Colonel. 

“I dell you vat, Maxwell, you vouldn’t ’ve seen 
a zent of my mooney, if you hadn’t fixed the deal 
in court!” 

“ ‘Fixed the deal’!” 

“You rich cattle-ginks know yore beeziness!” 

“It’s no use wastin’ words with you, Brosseau, 
— wranglin’ here like two kids over marbles! It’s 


218 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


after bankin’ hours now an’ I only let you in as 
a matter of accommodation.” 

“You’re always very obligin’ vhen the money’s 
cornin’ yore vay. But, it’s anudder ding vhen — ” 

“Mr. Brosseau, we won’t argue the matter jus’ 
now. It’s near supper time an’ I feel tired an’ 
hungry; consequently a feller’s liable to git 
irritated.” 

Brosseau took the receipted note and examined 
it: “Dat’s the las’ vone I sign,” he avowed, put- 
ting it in an inside pocket. He walked abruptly 
to the front door and found it locked. 

“Jus’ turn that little knob,” said the Colonel. 

“Deese one?” asked the Frenchman, turning 
it. He opened the door. 

Instantly the entrance was blocked with four 
men, each carrying two big Colt’s. The bankers 
were covered. The surprise was too sudden and 
up went their hands involuntarily before the 
command was finished. The Frenchman ap- 
parently was a little slow, and a Colt’s darted to- 
ward his stomach. 

“Ouch!” he exclaimed, doubling up. 

The leader ordered the safe opened. “Be 
quick ’bout it!” he commanded, sharply, with his 
six-shooter against the teller’s head. William 


A RUN ON THE BANK 


219 


could not help but obey; with trembling fingers 
he turned the combination. The robbers snatched 
up the heavy canvas bags of gold while Brosseau 
and the bankers were lined up, facing the wall. 
As the gold was hastily carried out one of the 
outlaws kept them to the wall. Shortly he backed 
toward the front door, with the threatening 
warning: “The firs’ guy that follows us will git 
his! So long, gentlemen. How’s the bankin’ 
business?” 

As he disappeared William was about to turn 
to give the alarm. The Colonel caught him by 
the sleeve saying, “Not so fast, William, they’re 
a-watchin’ the door!” 

“Goot ding, Maxwell,” slurred the French- 
man, “I pay dat note afore deese — eh!” 

They heard the rattle of a fast retreating 
wagon. William rushed to his cage for his re- 
volver, but discovered that it was gone. He hur- 
ried to the Colonel’s desk and also found his 
weapon missing. 

“Colonel,” said he, “ you lock the safe. I’ll 
raise the alarm.” 

“Vat I do?” Brosseau asked. 

“Go out an’ yell like blazes!” the Colonel an- 
swered excitedly. 


220 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


William threw open the front door, stepped 
out, and called for help at the top of his voice. 
Down the street careered the canvas-top-covered 
spring wagon, enveloped in a cloud of adobe dust ; 
under the stinging cuts of the lash the frightened 
horses galloped at full speed! 

“Dat’s mine outfit!” wailed the distracted 
Frenchman, looking after the wagon. “Dat’s 
mine! Oh, stop ’em! stop ’em!” 

Even as the yells attracted attention, the 
madly driven wagon aroused some cowboys, 
lounging on the street. Immediately there was a 
wild scurrying for horses, and a hot pursuit! To 
add to the confusion a continuous barking of 
dogs, loud yelling of townsmen and plainsmen, 
and firearm reports vibrated the air. Thus, 
heavily armed, a posse swept on. 

At the bars of the Limping Fawn outfit the 
exhausted team was overtaken. Within four 
hundred yards every member of the posse had 
slipped from his horse and advanced behind it 
for protection. Cautiously approaching the 
wagon — from which they had expected a fusil- 
lade — they were perplexed to find it empty. 

“They’ve shore melted!” declared the man, 
who had inertly investigated. “Not a thing 


A RUN ON THE BANK 


221 


left.” The Colonel gave the panting team into 
his charge, and led the posse up to the ranch 
house door. The Colonel unceremoniously 
opened the door to demand explanation. To 
his increasing perplexity the owner was not 
there. With insinuating accusations the posse 
overhauled the ranch buildings. But without 
success. 

“Well,” confessed the Colonel, “it shore looks 
bad!” 

The twilight deepened perceptibly, forcing a 
temporary complication. In conclusion it was 
decided to camp at the ranch to await the dawn. 

During the night, Ed Maxwell, Hank, Harry 
Western and Jack Morris, with others, rode into 
camp. Early in the morning a cattleman joined 
them. He claimed the team that had carried the 
robbers to safety, explaining that he had offered 
them for sale to Brosseau, and that the French- 
man had asked to try them before purchase, which 
was quite natural. Brosseau had driven to town 
to pay his note, tying the team near the bank. 
When the robbers rushed out with the money 
they saw their chance, jumped into the wagon 
and escaped. 

“Colonel,” said Jack, “did you notice any 
tracks around the wagon?” 


222 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“We were too interested in the contents of it 
to think — we expected bullets any second. When 
we come to our senses we’d tramped everythin’ 
down.” 

“Well, to my thinkin’,” Jack calculated, “the 
robbers have either got fresh bronc’s at this 
ranch or they’ve jumped out of the wagon back 
a-piece, givin’ the bronc’s a lick to send ’em on 
to put us off the scent. By the way, Colonel, is 
Brosseau with you?” 

“He was durin’ the hold-up, but I haven’t 
seen him since.” 

“I want to see him. If anyone happens to run 
acrost him, jus’ tell him.” 

“What’s the nex’ move, Jack?” inquired the 
Colonel. 

“I reckon you’d better go back to the bank, 
Colonel, an’ help Bill Upton. He said that the 
fun’s liable to happen, when yore depositors hear 
of the hold-up; they’re liable to make another 
kind of run on the bank.” 

The Colonel looked worried. 

“Why not close the doors fer a day or two,” 
suggested Ed. “We kin git some money from 
Phoenix.” 

“We kain’t hardly close the doors,” gravely 


A RUN ON THE BANK 


223 


replied the Colonel. “Mos’ of our depositors 
wouldn’t savvy the situation an’ the bank would 
be mobbed. I believe it would be wiser to open 
the doors an’ reason with the customers. If we 
kin cool ’em down they’ll see that it’ll all come out 
right in the end.” 

When the Colonel returned to the bank, the 
teller was endeavoring to pacify some excited 
depositors. The Colonel at once explained his 
position. While thus engaged, Brosseau entered 
the bank, approached them haughtily and pre- 
sumptuously demanded payment of a two thou- 
sand dollar check. 

“Mr. Brosseau,” calmly replied the Colonel, 
“you know very well our unfortunate circum- 
stances, an’ you know it is impossible to pay — ” 

“You no pay! You no pay!” screamed the 
Frenchman. 

“Now, Mr. Brosseau — ” 

“You no pay! Vat kind of bank is deese! 
She busted! She busted!” 

“Sh!” warned the Colonel, seeing several men 
entering the door. “We’ll pay you day after 
to-morrow.” 

“Pay now! Pay now! No! Oh! I’ve lost — 
I’m ruined — the bank, she busted! The bank, 


224 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

she busted !” he cried, rushing out, bemoaning 
his loss. 

When money is involved the least suspicious 
circulation spreads like wild-fire; mortal man 
seems to lose all reason, and when rumors of 
a bank failure throw persons into this agitated 
state, a bank which loans fifty to seventy-five 
per cent of its deposits is helpless to satisfy ac- 
counts on demand — especially when that bank 
is some distance from a reserve city. Thus, the 
Maxwell City Bank awaited the inevitable! 

Each rumor of the failure was exaggerated 
grossly, and each repetition worked the town into 
increasing frenzy. Depositors poured pell-mell 
into the banking-room, demanding with tears in 
their eyes, their money! They pushed toward 
the teller’s window, crying, begging and threat- 
ening. William shivered as he glanced over that 
crazy mob. The Colonel endeavored to make 
himself heard, but his voice was drowned out in 
the tumult. Then he pounded fiercely on his 
desk with his heavy cane. A hush fell instantly 
on the throng. 

“Gentlemen,” declared the Colonel, emphatic- 
ally, “this bank ain’t busted! You’ll git every 
cent back you’ve put in. I’m good fer the hull 


A RUN ON THE BANK 


225 


amount a hundred times I Yes, two hundred 
times — three hundred times — four hundred — five 
— six — twenty I Go home like decent citizens. 
Ain’t my word good?” 

“Pay our mooneyl” cried Brosseau. “Pay 
our mooney!” 

“An’ you, Brosseau!” exclaimed the Colonel, 
shaking his cane at him, “you measly sneak! 
You maliciously started this run jus’ because I 
made you pay an hones’ debt!” 

“I pay my note,” Brosseau answered. “But 
vhy you no pay deese check?” 

“I will!” 

“Vhen?” 

“Jus’ as soon as I kin express the money from 
Phoenix.” 

“You’ll be in ol’ Mexico afore then!” Bros- 
seau insinuated. 

“You git out of here!” yelled the Colonel, 
flourishing his cane. 

“Colonel,” said William, “he’s only trying to 
make you lose your temper. Don’t pay any 
attention to him.” 

“ I vant my mooney,” whimpered the Fmch- 
man. “I vant my mooney!” 

William walked up to him. “Mr. Brosseau,” 


226 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


said he, “y° u and every customer of this bank 
will receive the Colonel’s personal judgment 
note.” 

“An’ if my notes ain’t worth as much as gold, 
neither is the Maxwell estate, an* neither is the 
United States !” proudly acclaimed the Colonel. 

A murmur of admiration went up from the 
crowd. Then, the depositors, who had rushed in 
panic-stricken, hung their heads and sneaked out. 


Chapter XIX 


THE COUNTERFEIT 

Although the Colonel had promised his de- 
positors that they would not lose a cent, a few 
doubting ones really demanded his personal judg- 
ment note. Of this faint-hearted element Bros- 
seau was the leader. 

“Thar,” said the Colonel, handing him the 
legal instrument, “you’ve got my ten-day judg- 
ment note, Brousseau, an’ you kin enter up 
judgment against me in thirty minutes. I’ll 
show you that I kin redeem my notes with a 
leetle more grace than you did. Now, git out 
of here, you coward, an’ don’t let me see yer 
sneakin’ face ag’in!” 

“Ain’t you sorry you mak’ me pay dat note 
I no owe?” taunted the Frenchman. 

The check that he had presented for payment 
on the bank was drawn in his favor by Shorty 
Cameron of the Bar-O-Bar. “Judging from 
this, Mr. Brosseau,” said William, holding up 
the check, “you must have sold some land.” 


228 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Shore.” 

“It dates two weeks back.” 

“Dat’s when I sol’ the land.” 

“Do you mean to say that you’ve held a two 
thousand dollar check all this time, Mr. Bros- 
seau?” 

“It was foolish. Und I’d rather have the land 
back now under the circumstances.” 

“You’re not worrying now, Mr. Brosseau, are 
you?” 

“Not so much wid deese note in mine posses- 
sion. An’ I’m glad dat Maxwell no keep all his 
aiggs in one baskit! Still, deese affair has ben 
mos’ unfortunate to me. Meester Cameron ex- 
pected to buy conseederable more land from me 
— but now vhat kin he do? The bank is busted 
und he mus’ be ruined!” 

“Oh!” flashed the Colonel, “he wouldn’t buy 
yore land until the title was cleared of that judg- 
ment! Is that why you paid it, Brosseau? ” 

“Veil, dat’s mine affair!” 

“Why didn’t you cash Mr. Cameron’s check 
before this?” demanded William, suspiciously 
studying the Frenchman. 

“Und keep sech a beek zum of mooney in mine 
shack — oh, no! Cap’n Keedd is no dead!” 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


229 


“Then why did you slap the check on us to- 
day?’ William questioned. 

“I vant the mooney, dat’s all!” 

“You knew that in my extremity I wouldn’t 
have it!” stormed the Colonel. “ You done it for 
revenge — that’s what!” 

“Call it vhat you vill, Maxwell — I no care!” 

“An’ further, Brosseau, you created the run!” 

“No I. Vee all vent to pieces vhen vee heard 
dee awful news.” 

The Colonel leaned across the counter: “You 
knew well enough, Brosseau, that a few paltry 
thousands wouldn’t break me!” 

“I no take chances, Maxwell!” 

“I reckon that’s why you tried out that team 
afore buyin’ it!” sneered the Colonel. 

“Exactly! Who wouldn’t have?” 

An old man stepped from the small crowd. 
“Anybody would’ve done the same thing,” he 
remarked, sympathetically. 

The Colonel turned savagely upon Brosseau’s 
new champion and was about to utter an angry 
retort, when William whispered in his ear, “That 
old man is Jack Morris in disguise.” 

With an involuntary gasp the Colonel sat 
down, wondering what would be the game. 


230 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

“ Anything more that we can do for you, Mr. 
Brosseau?” William insinuated. 

“Dat’s all. Goot day.” 

As the Frenchman was about to go the old man 
laughed, “Wasn’t that a good joke?” 

“Vhat?” asked Brosseau, turning toward his 
new acquaintance. 

“Why, the way them bank robbers rustled yer 
wagon an’ made you walk home!” laughed the 
old man with increasing mirth. 

“I no valk home. Borried a zaddle-hoss.” 

“Oh,” grinned the old man, “I heard you 
walked. Didn’t some feller say he seen you a- 
footin’ it over by the Limpin’ Fawn?” 

“Dat grazy mare bucked me off!” 

“Thar! didn’t I say you walked? So you was 
pitched off? Didn’t git hurt, did you?” 

“No. I turned a zummerset over the maare’s 
head und landed on mine foots.” 

“You took no chances thar, Brosseau,” dryly 
commented the Colonel. 

“Nevair, Maxwell!” 

“Not even with the bank!” grinned the old 
man. 

“Not with a cripple!” sneered the Frenchman. 
“But mebbe Maxwell’s judgment note is worth 
somedings!” 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


231 


“You kain’t prove it by me,” answered the 
old man. “He wouldn’t even give me his note,” 
he added plaintively. 

“He vouldn’t!” exclaimed the Frenchman. 

“Vhy?” 

“They said I’d have to be identified fu’st.” 

“Whose check is it?” inquired the Frenchman. 

“Why — mine, I reckon.” 

“I mean, who drew it?” 

“Why, let me see — here’s my name — an’ here’s 
Shorty Cameron’s. I sold him a small bunch of 
cows. You know Shorty Cameron — everybudy 
does, I reckon — he’s good as gold!” 

“Are you shore dat’s yore name?” questioned 
Brosseau. 

“Shore, I’m shore!” firmly attested the old 
man. “I’ll write it on the back.” 

“Dat vouldn’t prove yore identity,” Brosseau 
replied. “Iss it an order or bearer check?” 

“Kin savvy?” asked the old man in a puzzled 
tone. 

Brosseau examined it. “Payable to bearer,” 
said he. “Write yore name on the back un’ I 
cash it.” 

“Think of the risk you’re takin’,” sarcastically 
said the Colonel. “ An’ you don’t take ‘chances,’ 
Brosseau!” 


232 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I’m a-goin’ to corner Maxwell notes !” retali- 
ated the Frenchman. He turned to the old man : 
“Come, do you vant the mooney?” 

“Bet yore life! I need it, stranger, bad! I’d 
like to start back home right away — I’m waitin’ 
to see how this mess pans out.” 

“ All right — Ten dollars deescount — eh?” 

“What?” 

“You pay me ten dollars deescount for cashin’ 
the check — bankin’ beeziness — eh, Maxwell?” 

“Ten dollars fer cashin’ a two hundred and 
fifty dollar check!” protested the old man. 

“Regular deescount!” persisted the French- 
man. 

Perceiving his position the old man reluctantly 
handed the Frenchman two five dollar silver cer- 
tificates. Brosseau instinctively glanced them 
over and hesitated. Holding one of them up, he 
declared, “Deese bill iss a counterfeet!” 

“What!” cried the old man. 

“Deese iss a counterfeet!” repeated Brosseau, 
assuredly. The old man took the bill and care- 
fully scrutinized it. “Ask the bankers, if you no 
believe me,” persisted the Frenchman. 

The old man held up the bill for William’s 
inspection. “Yes,” declared the teller, “it is a 
counterfeit.” 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


233 


“What place have I fallen into!” cried the old 
man, faintly. 

William then informed him that the bank 
would be required to retain the counterfeit and 
turn it in to the government. The old man re- 
sented ; but it was explained to him that unless he 
knew from whom he received it, it was absolutely 
his loss. 

Brosseau become impatient during the dis- 
cussion and thrust some gold pieces into the old 
man’s hand. After a careful count the old man 
said, “Why, thar’s only two hundred an’ fo’ty 
dollars !” 

“Deescount,” Brosseau explained. Throwing 
the check on the counter he demanded payment. 
The teller’s fallen countenance made him grin, 
and he added pungently, “Veil, Maxwell’s note, 
of course!” 

As the Colonel handed his signed note to the 
Frenchman, he slurred, “Mebbe you kin make a 
few more tens, Brosseau!” The Frenchman 
grinned and assured them that if they happened 
to hear of anyone wishing to “deescount paper,” 
he would be most happy to accommodate, “now, 
dat the bank vas busted ! ” 

To show his appreciation the old man invited 
Brosseau to drink with him. As they disap- 


234 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


peared through the front door, the Colonel 
turned to William and asked, “What in blazes 
are you young scamps up to?” The teller so- 
licited him to be patient. “An’ while we’re 
a-foolin’ here with that Frenchman how about 
the bank robbers?” stormed the big cattle man. 
“ What’s Ed?” he inquired. 

William replied that Ed was leading the posse 
in the hunt for the robbers. 

“He’s sensible!” the Colonel declared. “An’ 
what’s a little five dollar counterfeit, anyway, 
when the bank’s be’n cleaned up!” 

“Leave it to Jack Morris,” William implored. 
“I was with him at Wagon Mound, Colonel, an’ 
you should have seen him at work. Don’t you 
remember how he — ” 

“But what’s a counterfit got to do with it?” 
interrupted the Colonel, nervously. 

“I recognized it at once because Jack had 
begged it from me, saying that he had a little 
scheme. Didn’t you note how he drew Brosseau 
on? He did it so easily and naturally that I did 
not at first savvy. But, when he sprang that 
counterfeit! I expected him to trip up the 
Frenchman right there, but he didn’t, and you’ll 
see he has a card up his sleeve!” 

After a social drink, the old man invited the 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


235 


Frenchman to dine with him; hut Brosseau de- 
clined with profuse thanks, saying that he had 
an important engagement and could not possibly 
accept. However, he asked the old man if he 
could keep a secret, and upon being assured, con- 
fidentially asserted that something was wrong 
with the bank; he had a strong suspicion that 
the Colonel had been unfortunate in speculation. 
And now the bank disaster! How long at this 
rate could the Colonel last ? He must be 
planning to abscond to Mexico. In the face 
of such possibilities the old man questioned 
the act of buying additional bank notes. 
Brosseau emphatically declared that he could 
not bear to see an old man in trouble, and at the 
same time, helping him out, he could annoy the 
Colonel without risk, as he had an inside tip on 
the deal. The old man straight-forwardly 
charged him to publish his suspicions; if the 
Colonel intended to leave he should be placed 
in custody. 

“Do you dink I should tell?” the Frenchman 
asked. 

“Shore,” answered the old man convincingly. 
“I don’t savvy why you made me promise to keep 
my head shet.” 


236 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“She's a nasty ding to git out!" the French- 
man remarked. 

“But think of all the money innocent folks 
will lose. Say, I orter tell — if you don’t mind?" 

“Veil — use yore judgment, old man, only 
don’t mention any names, dat’s all." 

In floating the treacherous rumor, Brosseau 
endeavored to avoid implication, hence he tried 
to give the false impression that he would rather 
keep it secret. At the same time he worked to 
arouse indignation against the Colonel and thus 
spread it with other lips. Jack Morris — the old 
man — of course conjectured this, and conse- 
quently fell into the Frenchman’s design as con- 
genially as if he were the symbol of innocence. 
Playing the part of a dupe, therefore, he re- 
marked that he would not have thought that 
Colonel Maxwell would have been so dis- 
honest. 

“W’at ’s all this fuss ’bout, anyway?’’ inquired 
the barkeep, who had listened attentively, and he 
had heard every word, because they were spoken 
intentionally loud. Brosseau painstakingly ex- 
plained. “But, I kain’t savvy why you’re buyin’ 
every Tom, Dick and Harry’s note,’’ remarked 
the puzzled liquor dealer. 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


287 


“Oh, he’s a good feller,” declared the old man. 
“Everybudy’s friend. I come along an’ says he, 
‘I’ll help you/ an’ shore pop he does!” 

A man slouched up to the bar and ordered a 
drink. Brosseau tacitly suggested to acquaint 
him with the deplorable news. “He’s too ripe 
in years,” whispered the old man; “gray ha’rs 
don’t keer fer idle gossip. He shore is a hard 
lookin’ customer! Mebbe he’s Cap’n Kidd! 
Reckon I’ll deeposit my cash in the bank.” 

“Vould you trust Maxwell after all you 
know?” Brosseau asked, incredulously. 

“Why not? Ain’t it safer to put money in a 
bank than to carry it on my person?” 

“Vasn’t the bank robbed?” Brosseau answered. 
“Und what protection did it offer?” 

But the old man argued that if Colonel 
Maxwell’s notes satisfied others, he would be 
willing to accept them. Perceiving that his 
chance of getting possession of the old man’s gold 
was slipping away, Brosseau attempted to incul- 
cate that he had an inside tip ; otherwise, he would 
not have touched a note of Maxwell’s. But 
the old man was obstinate. Hence, Brosseau 
accompanied him to see if Colonel Maxwell 
treated him fairly, as he explained. 


238 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


As they re-entered the bank, the Colonel 
feigned impatience, and testily exclaimed, 
“What, you back again ? ” 

Brosseau apparently enjoyed the ill-humor, 
and he dryly replied, “I’ve brought you a new 
customer, Maxwell.” 

The Colonel noted the slight inflection, and 
he returned his thanks in the same tone, his dry 
humor savored as with the alkali itself. 

“You no appreciate it, Maxwell? ” retorted the 
Frenchman. 

“You’re mistaken, my dear boy; we appre- 
ciate it very much. What does yore friend de- 
sire? Certificate of deposit or a checking ac- 
count?” 

“Yore own personal judgment note is all dat 
goes now. Maxwell,” Brosseau answered in a 
tone which conveyed much meaning. 

Instead of treating the small crowd of spec- 
tators gathered around to a quarrel, the Colonel 
quietly made out his note and handed it to the 
old man, who critically examined it. 

“I no git a commission?” persisted Brosseau, 
trying to arouse the Colonel’s temper. But 
the Colonel turned his back on him, produced a 
cigar, lit it, and smoked unconcernedly. “Max- 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


239 


well, you shore are accommodatin’,” sneered the 
trouble-maker. 

The old man looked up from the examination 
of the note. “Mr. Brosseau,” said he, “would 
you like to hear me tell Colonel Maxwell a 
story?” The Frenchman grinned and nodded. 

“Some years ago,” continued the old man, 
“there was a feller who worked in a bank in gay 
Paree. This feller believed in takin’ ‘chances’ 
— like you do — an’ so he embezzled a big sum 
of money an’ vamosed. Well, in my ambles 
after Apache Kidd I happened to hear of it an’ 
jotted it down in my leetle note nook. The 
other day I happened to be a victim of a five 
dollar counterfeit an’ it suggested a scheme to 
me. Says I to myself, ‘If I ever run across a 
feller who is smart enough to detect the counter- 
feit, he must have had considerable experience 
with money an’ might be a runaway banker 
from gay Paree.’ ” He glanced sharply at the 
Frenchman: “Need I continue the narrative, 
Mr. Brosseau?” 

“It’s ver’ interestin’,” answered the French- 
man , coolly. ‘ 4 Go on . ” 

Then off came the disguise and in place of the 
old man stood Jack Morris. Brosseau simply 


240 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


stared at him as if he could not believe his eyes. 
“Wasn’t half bad, was it, Frenchie?” sneered 
Jack. “You see, the Colonel’s daughter is ’way 
up in the play-actin’ business, an’ she knows 
how to make up the hero to perfection. 

“An’ by the way, Frenchie, how long have you 
an’ yore pals be’n rehearsin’ yore little game? 
Don’t you know the villain always dies? An’ 
jus’ to think that a leetle five dollar counterfeit 
did the trick!” 

Brosseau slowly raised his eyes, but meeting 
Jack’s stern gaze lowered them again. “I 
reckon my game’s up,” he muttered, in a low 
tone. 

“Yes, I reckon it is,” said Jack. “An’ jus* 
because you couldn’t refrain from trying to 
rile the Colonel.” 

“Vhy you no show me up vhen I deescovered 
the counterfeet?” 

“Because, Frenchie, I want to keep this thing 
quiet till I’ve corralled yore pardners.” 

“Vhat do you mean by pardners?” 

“Why, you had an engagement, didn’t you?” 
Jack recalled. 

“Dat vas only a blind. I dought you vere 
an easy mark, und intended takin’ yore money; 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


241 


but you vere too foxy und brought it to the 
bank.” 

“That’s all very fine! But thar’s another thing 
you’ll have to answer fer, an’ that is complicity 
in the hold-up of this bank.” 

“What!” the Colonel roared. 

“Yes, he’s responsible fer two kinds of a run 
on the bank. The firs’ kind was natural enough, 
but the second was of an obscure nature — 
Frenchie, you’re mixed up with a hard class of 
fellers. I wonder if yore wife will feel anxious 
tonight? An’ to think of you failin’ into yore 
own trap, jus’ because you couldn’t resist irri- 
tatin’ the Colonel with yore nasty leetle ways. 
Say, don’t you feel like kickin’ yoreself? 
Here, set down on this chair; you’re gittin’ 
weak in the knees.” 

The alleged absconder sank into the chair 
placed by Jack, who continued: “I s’pose you’re 
trying to guess how I happened to ketch you with 
that counterfeit bill ? Well, I’ll tell you. You 
remember the remark you made after we’d given 
up Cap’n Kidd’s trail? ‘Two dollars a day iss no 
bad, und as vee no see the Cap’n — und no keer to 
— vee jus’ keep on a-ridin’ und a-ridin’ ! ’ When 
Hank sneered at yore woods, instead of gittin’ 


242 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


mad, you meekly ignored him. Hank dis- 
gustedly told me, ‘yore liver is plumb white!’ 
But I warned him to look out fer you after dark. 
It wasn’t natcheral fer you to be so submissive. 
That night you threw the bowie-knife at me, we 
followed you home. Say, but didn’t you jump 
when I busted the window! You an’ yore 
partner got busy in a hurry! We didn’t find 
out who was with you, though. But I must con- 
fess that you slightly aroused the suspicious 
part of my ‘detective’ instincts, which by the 
way are very easily aroused an’ ever ready to 
grasp at a straw! 

“When Bill, here, casually remarked that you 
seemed to be well posted on banking, strange to 
say, I consulted my note book from mere idle 
curiosity, and I found that yore height, build 
an’ general manhood was somewhat in the neigh- 
borhood of the description of that embezzler that 
parted company with gay Paree — although, of 
course, yore general appearance at present would 
not encourage one a great deal! Here’s a copy 
of yore photograph I cut from a newspaper, an’ 
you kin see fer yoreself that you gave us leetle 
opportunity to recognize you — yore heavy whisk- 
ered face forms quite a contrast with the saucy 
moustache on the photograph — of gay Paree! 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


243 


“Well, as I said afore, I grasped at a straw. 
One day I brought some currency into the bank, 
an’ Bill shoved out a five dollar bill with a smile 
an’ tol’ me that he couldn’t accept counterfeits. 
Then I got an inspiration an’ I says to myself, if 
Brosseau is a runaway banker, he’ll bite on the 
counterfeit, an’ so I asked Bill fer it. I waited 
fer the golden opportunity, an’ today you bit so 
hard, Frenchie, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut the 
hook out of yore gills!” 

Brosseau sat with his elbows resting on his 
knees and his face in his hands, the picture of 
despair! 

After a pause, the Colonel asked, “Have you 
anything to say, Mr. Brosseau?” 

The absconder raised his head: “I no zay 
anyding just now. You zee, I’m in trouble, und 
it is hardly to my advantage to talk.” 

Jack bent over him: “Come, Frenchie, we’re 
goin’ over to see yore friends; they must be 
weary of the responsibility of the bank’s money!” 

“I don’t know vhat you mean.” 

“Very well,” said Jack, walking over to the 
teller’s desk. “Bill, will you write down my 
questions and his answers?” Then turning to 
the Frenchman: “Mr. Brosseau, did you figure 
in the bank hold-up?” he questioned. 


244 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“No.” 

“Will you sign a sworn statement denying that 
charge?” 

“I vill zign nutdings! I do not dink the 
question a propair vone.” 

“Knowing that the bank closes at six o’clock, 
what made you appear late?” 

“Because I arrive late in town und I promised 
to pay the judgment dat day.” 

“Why was such a promise made? Was there 
any need?” 

“Because I receive a check in full payment. I 
pay the judgment according to mine agreement!” 

“Then, when the Colonel was accommodatin’ 
enough to let you in, why did you pay the note 
so ungracefully?” 

“How ‘gracefully’ vould you pay anudder 
man’s note?” 

“That’s not the question.” 

“I vould not paid if the Colonel had not 
entered up judgment against mine property. 
Shorty Cameron inseested I pay all encum- 
brances before he would buy.” 

“Then he must have had explicit confidence 
in you to give that check afore you paid the 
judgment?” 

“I promised him und I keep mine vord.” 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


245 


“Did you intend to cash Mr. Cameron’s check 
after paying the judgment?” 

“Not den. It vould have been dangerous to 
return home wid so large amount of money on 
mine person.” 

“When did you intend to cash the check?” 

“The next day.” 

“Where would you have kept so large an 
amount of money? In the house?” 

“Yes; for a short time.” 

“After the hold-up did you borrow a broncho 
and ride directly home or did you join in the 
chase?” 

“I joined the chaze.” 

“On foot?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then did you return to town an’ borrow the 
broncho?” 

“I deed.” 

“On the way home were you pitched off the 
broncho?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you walked home?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you see anyone on the way?” 

“A rancher by the name of Landers. He 
walked wid me as far as hese ranch.” 


246 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“About what time did you reach home?” 

“About two in the morning.” 

“By what door did you enter yore house?” 

“Back door.” 

“Did you meet anyone?” 

“Mine vife.” 

“Did she appear to be worried?” 

“Yes. I told her I vould be home airly. As I 
deed not, mine vife felt quite concerned.” 

“Did you retire at once?” 

“No. We talked ’bout the hold-up.” 

“Will you still maintain that you were not 
connected with the robbery?” 

“Most emphatically, yes!” 

“Then you’ll have to stand the consequences, 
Mr. Brosseau,” said Jack, approaching him. 
“Thar’s ugly rumors a-goin’ ’round town that 
Brosseau’s band robbed the bank an’ the citizens 
are gittin’ ready to lynch you, without waitin’ 
fer the court. You’ll be lynched shore; thar ’ll 
be no hope! If I was in yore boots I’d rather try 
my chance with a Paree jury fer embezzlin’ 
than trust myself with a New Mexico jury for 
complicity with such a scoundrel as Apache 
Kidd!” 

“You no prove it!” 

“I have my private opinion an’ when I 


THE COUNTERFEIT 


247 


publish that opinion, it won’t take much proof 
to convince the jury. You’ve lived long enough 
’round here to know how the citizens hate Cap’n 
Kidd, an’ when they suspect that you are con- 
nected with him, they’ll look upon you as a 
murderer!” 

“What kin they prove I deed?” 

“Mr. Brosseau,” Jack snapped, “you are 
| charged with complicity in the hold-up of this 
bank. I’ll have to hold you here a few minutes. 
Bill, will you run over to the court house an’ 
swear out a warrant for Brosseau’s arrest? When 
he’s landed in jail we’ll not be responsible who 
takes him out.” 

I As William came forward, the Frenchman 
arose, asking, “Vhat you vant?” 

There was a loud report, a stream of fire, and 
the sound of falling glass! Brosseau again sank 
back on the chair. 

I William sprang toward him. Brosseau gasped 
“He thought I vas going to dell on heem — he 
shoot me — dat — Cap’n Keedd!” 

“Cap’n Kidd!” exclaimed the others. 

“Whar is he?” Jack demanded. “Whar is 
he?” 

“Dey leeve in a cave under mine shack!” 

“Thar ain’t a minute to lose!” Jack cried, 
running toward the door. 


Chapter XX 

The Last of Cap’n Kidd’s Clan 

At daybreak a strong posse surrounded Bros- 
seau’s adobe. As the circle drew in closer a 
big calibre Sharp’s rifle was thrust through a 
loop-hole and fired point-blank without a parley. 
Barely had the man within its range slipped 
from his saddle when another 50-calibre leaden 
messenger whistled viciously overhead ! Another 
bullet instantly followed! Thus, every one of 
the posse crouched behind his broncho using the 
body as breastworks and the little .44-40 calibre 
repeating saddle rifles returned a fierce fire over 
the horses’ backs. Bullets pattered like hail- 
stones against the shack door and windows! 
Several bronchos fell before the besieged’s fire, 
the men ducking behind the prostrated beasts 
for protection. 

“ I reckon we’re makin’ it interestin’ fer ’em jus’ 
the same,” remarked one, exultingly. “Look 
at the door thar — ’pears like it might let in a 
little ventilation!” 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 249 

The monotonous crack of firearms and the 
patter of lead continued all day. The door and 
casing was literally shot to splinters; also the 
wooden shutters protecting the windows, and 
the adobe wall around them began to crumble a 
little. Clouds of smoke clung to the walls and 
arose in thin wisps. 

“Speakin’ ’bout bee-hives — oh, say!” grinned 
one of the posse with powder-stained lips. 

“How ’bout smoked ham,” grinned another. 
“I’d hate to be in that shack with that burnt 
powder. Jinks, the air is pallooted ’nough 
’roun’ us!” He glanced up at the heavy cloud 
of smoke overhead. 

“Gee! it shore gives me an appetite, though!” 
declared a third. “Looks like we’re a-goin’ to 
work overtime tonight.” 

“My gun bar’ll is hot enough to fry steak!” 
said the first. “Who wants a juicy slice?” 

“Whiskey fer me! Vm dry ’ nough to chew 
gum \ ” Then with a groan the speaker dropped 
face downward. The red stream was readily 
soaked up in the adobe dust. The others gazed 
silently at him and, with vindictive curses, they 
poured out their rage on the shack, working 
the levers of their smoking Winchesters with 


250 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


methodical precision! But, with defiant spurts 
of flame and smoke bullets hissed back at them 
from the building, sang their deadly tune on every 
side as they kicked up the dust in front, throwing 
it in the gritty mouths and grimy faces — to bury 
with a dull thud in a broncho’s or a man’s body, 
or glance with an angry hum overhead, wrench- 
ing from beast a wild shriek of agony and from 
man a constrained groan! Thus, the hot, weary 
hours of the afternoon dragged along. Still 
the posse relentlessly kept up the fight, caring 
not to reserve ammunition, which was con- 
stantly arriving, and being distributed with 
difficulty, owing to the unerring marksmanship 
of the besieged, who, too, were evidently well 
supplied for the occasion. Only a very hot 
rifle barrel put it temporarily out of commission. 

Re-enforcements all day had joined the posse; 
gradually the circle growing stronger and more 
deadly. Consequently weaker grew the fire 
from the shack. Jack Morris ordered word to 
be passed around to cease shooting, thus allow- 
ing the weapons to cool in readiness for a sally 
from the shack. 

“Wonder if Cap’n Kidd is still alive?” mused 
Harry Western at Jack Morris’ left elbow. 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 251 


“I was jus 9 a-wonderin 9 that myself, Kid , 99 
answered Jack. “I hope so. I 9 ve entertained 
him a hull lot; but I reckon this here is the bes 9 
reception yet!" 

A quarter of an hour elapsed, still no sign from 
the desperate garrison, and twilight was merging 
into darkness. “Say, Jack," called a young 
plainsman about ten yards from his left, “reckon 
we could charge ’em off 9 n thar feet!" 

“Better wait till dark," advised an old fron- 
tiersman a few feet from Jack’s right. “They’ll 
prob’bly try to break through us in the dark. 
But, we kin crawl up dost an 9 pepper ’em un- 
mercifully the minute they shove thar noses out 
the door." 

“That was my idee," said Jack. “An 9 now, 
we might 9 s well amuse ourselves while it’s light 
by jus 9 remindin’ ’em we’re still here." Suiting 
the action to the word he sent a .45-90 calibre 
bullet crashing through the splintered door. 
Simultaneously the circle burst out into flame 
and smoke, pouring lead like hailstones into the 
adobe’s apertures! 

When darkness put an end to the firing. Jack 
turned to Harry and remarked, “Kid, if thar’s 
a livin’ soul yonder, he mus’ be in the cave under- 
neath." 


252 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“How you reckon will be the best way to git 
’em out the cave?” Harry inquired. “Starvin’ 
or chargin’?” 

“I wouldn’t keer to be the firs’ feller to poke 
my face into the cave,” grinned the old frontiers- 
man. 

Presently Jack Morris passed word to each 
side of him to creep toward the abode, and the 
circle warily drew closer. Jack cautiously 
crawled toward the door, straining his eyes for 
the least suspicious move in the darkness. Sud- 
denly his Colt’s leaped instinctively on a level 
with his right eye as through the door staggered 
a dark form. “Hold on thar!” he called 
sharply. But, for answer a bright spurt of 
flame flashed toward him, and he heard the 
wicked hiss of lead close to his right ear. Three 
or four more forms came out the doorway, 
firing wildly at the sharp bursts of fire; the 
hopeless outlaws would not give up, because 
to do so would mean to be hanged, and they 
preferred to fight. Thus, they continued to 
pull their triggers even as the rain of lead pierced 
them through and through, and death ended 
their worthless lives. 

Then the firing of the circle became so intense 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 253 

that a number of casualties occurred to the 
posse at its own hands. Hence, Jack Morris 
ordered it to cease, and in a loud, stern voice he 
commanded the survivors to surrender at once. 
It was almost two minutes before they appeared: 
five weaponless, begrimed and exhausted des- 
peradoes. Instantly they were surrounded by 
an angry throng which grasped and tore with 
violent hand. 

“Whar’s Apache Kidd ? Whar’s Apache 
Kidd?” demanded threatening voices. 

“He ain’t here,” one of the desperadoes 
replied. “Ain’t be’n here fer two days.” 

“Not in the ’dobe?” gasped the frustrated 
throng. “Not in the ’dobe? Whar is he?” 

“With Frenchie Brosseau. They was workin’ 
the bank together.” 

The throng stared helplessly around; then 
unutterable rage seized it. 

Jack Morris spoke in a low tone to a few men 
near him, and they rushed recklessly into the 
adobe to ascertain the cruel truth. Promptly 
the adobe filled with passionate men, searching 
every nook and corner for the hated renegade. 
But nowhere could he be discovered, and the 
baffled plainsmen gave vent to their wrath with 


254 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


furious curses. They completely overturned 
everything, and in their irascible mood they 
trampled over the dead and the wounded like 
so many cattle in a stampede. 

Finally Jack Morris succeeded in clearing the 
adobe of the mob, to allow a few to continue the 
search in good order. “See if someone kain’t 
find somethin’ to make a light,” he said; “we ’ve 
got a perty mess to clean up in here.” 

With the aid of matches the men continued 
the hunt. In the feeble light the interior 
presented a ghastly sight; dead and wounded 
lay scattered on the floor; also, firearms, belts, 
and other paraphernalia. The adobe walls 
without, as well as within, gave evidence of the 
terrible storm of lead poured upon them; 
flattened bullets nearly covered the ground, and 
the floor within was strewn with empty cart- 
ridge shells, showing, too, how heavy a fire had 
the garrison returned. In the centre of the 
room stood an empty barrel. Apparently it 
had held drinking water for the thirsty fighters, 
but, punctured by bullets, it had lost its precious 
contents. Near the barrel was an upturned 
table, and the burst cartridge boxes lying 
around suggested it had been used for the pur- 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 255 


pose of a convenient ammunition stand. The 
legs showed several bullet holes, as did all the 
scant furniture — in fact, the entire interior was 
a ruin. 

In his eagerness to find the entrance to the 
cave. Jack Morris was so absorbed that he failed 
to notice the merciless treatment of the wounded 
prisoners at the vengeful hands of his men; thus, 
more than one helpless outlaw received a death 
blow from the heavy butts of big six-shooters 
and sank noiselessly down to join the never- 
waking sleep of their late comrades. The 
corpses were thrown roughly in a heap in a cor- 
ner of the room. 

Stumbling recklessly around the debris. Jack 
Morris groped his way, often forgetting the 
match which would burn to his finger tips, and 
with an angry exclamation he would throw it 
down, leaving himself without immediate light. 
Impatiently he would strike another match 
and resume the search. 

Harry Western thoughtfully gathered up 
some splinters and kindled a small fire in the 
fireplace. More wood was brought and the 
fire soon lit up the dingy place, contributing a 
fair means to extend the search. ‘ You’ve got 


256 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

a head on you, Kid,” praised Jack Morris, and 
Harry Western colored slightly with pleasure. 

But, nothing more appeared. “I reckon thar 
ain’t even a cockroach alive,” remarked an old 
borderman presently. “Cap’n Kidd has shore 
played ‘Yankee Doodle’ with us ag’in, an’ I 
s’pose we might’s well deespose of his valiant 
men an’ hit the back trail, like a kyute-licked 
hound.” 

“Them prisoners goes with us to town,” 
quietly answered Jack Morris. 

Green understood the declaration. “They 
do, do they? Wall, not after our neck-tie 
sociable,” he insinuated vindictively. 

“We don’t want any lynchin’, boys,” said 
Jack. “Let the law deal with ’em.” 

“We’re the law what runs this here range,” 
retorted Green, glancing around on the taciturn 
countenances. “If any of Apache Kidd’s gang 
don’t deeserve lynchin’ — wall, I’ve missed my 
guess, I reckon.” He started toward the door. 
At once several voices affirmed his statement 
and a general movement followed. 

“Boys!” implored Jack, hurrying after them. 
However, they would not listen to him. 

Meanwhile, the plainsmen had been none too 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 257 


peaceable toward the prisoners, and it needed 
only a spark to start the flame. Hence, when 
Green appeared he promptly prevailed upon 
them to deal out range law, and at once a fero- 
cious mob burst into the adobe after the captives 
to fulfill the lust for blood. 

Jack Morris elbowed his way into the surging 
throng, knowing too well that the enraged plains- 
men would work vengeance with that identical 
spirit which predominated in all cases like 
Apache Kidd’s — although lynching itself, re- 
sponding to the plainsmen’s uncontrollable spirit, 
is also lawless, and he endeavored to reason 
with the men to cool down and respect the 
written law. But, the plainsmen had been 
aroused to such frenzy by Apache Kidd’s mis- 
deeds that, in the desire for vengeance, they 
became so distracted in mind and body as to 
lose all regard for written law and sought to 
carry out their purpose. In the early days the 
West — boasting of no jails — lynched outlaws. 
When the written law was introduced “the 
old dogs” could not “savvy” it, and they clung 
to the old methods. Hence, the conflict with 
the progressive generation — “the young dogs” — 
which learned from books that it were better te? 


258 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


give up “the bone” to justice, knowing that it 
would be treated according to its deserts. 
Thus, “the old dogs” sprang, growling, for their 
“bones.” 

Besides their past outlawry, the clan had 
wounded and killed a number of the present 
posse and they must now pay the penalty. 
Jack and a few faithful followers struggled to 
protect the captured renegades from the brist- 
ling pack, which completely surrounded them 
with angry curses and savage blows. It would 
have been utter folly for Jack and his little 
band to have used their fire-arms in defense, 
as in such a predicament the mob would not 
have tolerated them. Likewise, what chance 
had they against such overwhelming numbers 
attacking from every quarter? Strong and 
determined as Jack and his party were, the 
terrible pace soon began to tell on them, and 
after putting up a manly fight, they were over- 
powered, bound and carried outside. 

Green drew the end of a rawhide lariat over a 
cottonwood roof beam. His purpose was easy 
to divine. Within the semi-circle of luridly 
lit faces, gathered around the fire, stood the 
five condemned desperadoes, awaiting their 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 252 


doom. When a victim would be “strung up” 
it would bring him very near the leaping flames, 
thus adding something more terrible to the scene. 
But no matter, the place was the only available 
gallows, and consequently the execution would 
maliciously proceed. 

Harry Western, seeing the mob interested in 
the forthcoming incident, took advantage of the 
opportunity and dexterously cut the rope which 
bound Jack. As Jack arose to stretch his 
cramped limbs, Harry also freed the others. 
Then the little party joined the grim circle. 
Jack again tried to wedge a passage through to 
the center, but the jam held together with 
irresistible strength, crowding the men until 
they seemed to gasp for breath, as they were 
almost lifted off their feet. The air was stifling, 
causing the perspiration to appear in large 
beads on the swarthy faces. To penetrate such 
a wall of excited human beings was nigh impos- 
sible; yet Jack endeavored to force his way 
through to confront the leaders. His efforts 
were unsuccessful and he madly ran around the 
semi-circle, looking for a weak place. The 
cries of “Lynch ’em ! Lynch ’em ! ” and the 
labored breathing of struggling men in the crush 


260 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


spurred him to the fight, and again he attacked 
the press only to come once more in contact with 
that violent pressure. Many a curse was hurled 
at him as his elbow or shoulder struck home; but 
he paid no attention, but!pushed ahead. He paid 
no heed to the blows struck at him, as, the space 
being limited, they carried little force against 
his well protected head. Then curses followed 
in long, fluent strings. Groans and curses 
arose here and there where corns were trampled 
upon. The dusty mob presented a wild sight 
as it sluggishly swayed to and fro, wild-eyed, 
bloody, scratched faces, dishevelled hair, missing 
hats, torn clothes, pushing, crowding, jamming, 
cursing, threatening. The leaders called to 
move back and give more space. Presently 
Green opened the fatal noose to slip it over the 
nearest bandit’s head. 

To rise above the crowd and make himself 
universally heard, Jack climbed the pile of dead 
bodies in the corner and shouted, “Boys, give 
’em to me.” Green told him to mind his own 
business. “Who found ’em?” Jack challenged. 

“Thet don’t make no difference,” replied 
Green: “We’re a-goin’ to swing ’em,” and he 
coolly placed the noose over the victim’s head. 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD’S CLAN 261 


“If you do, gentlemen,” warned Jack, “I’ll 
never hunt down another.” 

“Don’t you worry, son,” retorted Green, 
drawing the noose taut, “we kin take keer of 
ourselves.” 

“I reckon you’d better ask Cap’n ’bout that,” 
taunted Jack. 

“Wall, why don’t you ketch him, son,” 
sneered Green. 

“Well,” answered Jack, glancing around the 
crowd, “I have done somethin’ that a-way. 
Who gave you this splendid opportunity, any- 
way? Who found this here den? Is it my 
fault the fox didn’t happen to be in? Is it? 
An’ I reckon, instead of wastin’ our time here, 
it would be better hittin’ his trail.” 

“We kain’t do it afore daylight,” remarked one 
of the crowd. “How kin we f oiler a trail in the 
dark?” 

“Then we orter look fer somethin’ to eat an’ 
then git a little sleep to be ready at daybreak,” 
Jack suggested. 

“Say,” called Green, “you didn’t mind lyn- 
chin’ them rustlers over Wagon Mound way, 
did you? What’s the odds?” 

“I’ve learned to respect the law,” Jack an- 


262 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


swered. “It’s just as lawless to take these men’s 
lives without a trial by jury as it was fer ’em to 
rob the bank.” 

“They’ve done more than rob — they’ve even 
killed some of us ! ” 

“Well, won’t the court remember that ? 
They’ll be punished.” 

“Ain’t we the cou’t? Kain’t we do it jus’ as 
well?” 

“Not upholdin’ the majesty of the law.” 

“The law. What law? Ain’t our law always 
be’n the bes’ judgment of the community? 
Kain’t we judge these critters here as well as in 
town? What’re you talkin’ bout, I’d like to 
know.” 

“Well,” concluded Jack, “I’ll wash my hands 
of this, an’ all other cases in the future. After 
this, you kin find yore own game to lynch.” 
And he stepped down from the ghastly plat- 
form. 

“Apache Kidd is bad medicine — eh?” sneered 
Green. “Jack knows when it’s time to quit. 
He don’t want to corral the Kidd ’cause he’s 
afraid we’ll lynch him. That’s shore rich. 
Haw! Haw! Haw!” 

No matter how wicked the place there is 


THE LAST OF CAP 1 N KIDD'S CLAN 263 


always someone to stand up, unafraid, for the 
right. The courage of Jack Morris to back his 
ideal served to arouse respect for law and order. 
Thus, an old cattleman stepped up to Green and 
said, “I’ve knowed Jack Morris fer a good spell 
an’ he’s all wool.” There was a short silence, 
and then a cheer burst forth from the inner ring 
of the circle. The old cattleman continued, 
“If thar’s ’nother man in this here part of the 
United States of Ameriky who’s done more fore 
elevatin’ society, I’d like some feller to mention 
him right now.” 

“Thet’s all right,” said Green. “But, didn’t 
these here critters kill some of us this very day? 
Why not hang ’em up at once an’ be done with 
it? That’s whut.” 

“ ’Cause we ain’t the cou’t, gentlemen,” re- 
plied the old cattleman. “Let the law deal with 
’em. Fer one, I’m plumb ashamed of this thing, 
an’ I heartily endorse Jack Morris’s sentiments. 
If his reputation ain’t of any value to us, then 
he orter, as he’s threatened, to give up his 
services. 

“But, on t’other han’, if we do value his serv- 
ices, we’ll beg him to continue his good work. 
Apache Kidd is at large, an’ whoever has landed 
him yet, but Jack?” 


264 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Shore,” interrupted Green, “an’ if Jack had 
lynched the Kidd at once instead of givin’ him 
up to the law, we wouldn’t be troubled no longer. 
As it is, Cap’n Kidd has be’n makin’ fools of us 
right along?” 

“The law would’ve hanged the Kidd all right,” 
answered the old cattleman, “but some fools 
tried to take him ’way an’ lynch him. Durin’ 
the argument with the sheriff the Kidd escaped — 
you all know how it happened. Was it Jack’s 
fault? No siree. Not at all. 

“Now, Colonel Maxwell — one of the fines’ 
men who ever threw a leg over a saddle — has 
worked hard for years to establish the law in 
this here risin’ community. What do you do to 
help him? Send his bes’ man away — the bes’ 
bandit-hunter we ever had the good fortune to 
have? God ferbid, gentlemen. 

“Believe me, what Jack says he’ll do, he’ll do. 
An’ I shore know Jack. So, listen to reason, 
an’ trot these fellers to jail. The jury won’t 
fergit what they’ve done, an’ some of us will be 
on the jury. The rest will be at the trial, an’ if 
the jury don’t do right, we’ll be thar all right.” 

A swift murmur arose among the crowd. 
The fair-minded citizens realized the true state 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 205 


of affairs, and instead of the vengeful lust for 
blood, they grasped the situation and respected 
the law. Of course the assembly still contained 
a number of skeptical ones, who grumbled their 
confounded doubts; but these were entirely 
obliterated under the compelling force of the 
law-abiding majority. 

“Say, Jack,” said one, near the outer edge 
of the circle, “I’ll bet you didn’t know you was 
so influential!” 

To command a regiment of well-trained sol- 
diers and to govern a multitude of self-appointed 
angry “range-law” plainsmen are two very 
different propositions. However, the adobe was 
finally cleared of the crowd, and only the pris- 
oners, guarded by two resolute rangers, remained 
within. 

Outside a campfire burned and most of the 
men lay on the bare earth, endeavoring to catch 
a few hours’ sleep. At daybreak they knew 
that they would find most of the horses dead 
or wounded. A long walk was before them; 
hence, it were wise to reserve strength. Although 
many of the saddle-bags contained a snack to 
eat, the men cared now more for rest than for 
food. Thus, peace settled over the battle- 


200 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


ground, tranquility reigned, except for the low 
mutterings of the wounded, and the mournful 
moans of the coyotes, scenting fresh spilled 
blood! 

Jack Morris and Harry Western, exhausted 
as they were, valiantly attended the wounded, 
doing all in their power to relieve the suffering 
of both man and beast. Even after daybreak 
they remained faithfully at their post. Finally, 
the old cattleman insisted that they “turn in” 
and leave it to some of the slightly refreshed 
men. Thus, while Jack and Harry slept, prep- 
arations methodically continued. 

Upon awakening Jack stiffly arose and gazed 
around the adobe — it was occupied now by the 
wounded who were carried in for shelter from the 
sun’s burning rays. Several men moved about, 
attending them. But the five prisoners were 
not there. Jack involuntarily rubbed his eyes 
and silently stared. What did it all mean? 
Were they taken out and lynched ? The thought 
of the possibility caused the blood to grow hot 
within his veins and he reviled himself for being 
so weak as to allow such trickery. Therefore 
without making inquiry, he pushed irritably 
past the attendants and went out. Men moved 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 267 


about with quiet dignity; a few groups squatted 
peaceably on the hot sand, playing cards as 
sociably as if in the grandest drawing room; 
others were stripping their dead horses of their 
saddles and accoutrements, while overhead 
lazily sailed hideous buzzards. Jack leaned 
against the door- jamb in deep study. He was 
aroused by the voice of Green: “Wall,” the 
speaker continued as Jack silently contem- 
plated him; “yore friends was taken to town.” 

“The bandits?” Jack asked, with increasing 
interest. 

“Shore. The o 1’ cattleman took ’em to the 
sher’ff. He’s also gone fer hosses fer us an’ 
vehicles fer the wounded. If he’ll unly git a 
rustle on him mebbe thar won’t be a full house 
at the trial.” 

“Of course,” affirmed Jack, “we’ll be thar to 
see that they git the fulles’ extent of the law.” 

“Wall, I reckon!” exclaimed Green. “Moses 
an’ all the prophets won’t hoi’ a candle to us — 
not by a dern sight.” 

As Jack and Harry were preparing their 
meager breakfast, the latter smiled and said, 
“Reckon the Colonel’s daughter will pat you on 
the back.” 


268 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Fer what, Kid?” 

“Why — ” Harry replied, “fer everythin’! 
Just think what you’ve done. I shore won’t 
have a look in now.” 

Jack’s spirits had been rising rapidly and he 
was in a very comfortable frame of mind. 
“Kid,” he grinned, “you shore are an easy rival — 
you are. Why, if I had half yore grit I would 
have merried her long ago. But, the funniest 
part of the deal — the more us rivals associate 
the more we grow to like each other. Now, 
how do you reckon it will turn out?” 

“You got me,” Harry confessed. 

“It shore is a tough proposition.” 

“Ain’t it,” sighed Harry. “Sometimes I 
think it ain’t a square deal — you’re so big an’ 
strong, while I’m so blamed little.” 

“Yes — but when thar’s two women to one 
man in this big, big world, tell me. Kid, why does 
every girl have two lovers? It’s always so. 
I had the same thing happen to me at Wagon 
Mound. I fell in love with Bill Upton’s wife — 
that is, before she was — an’ somehow, he won 
out. She was a lovely Eastern girl.” 

“She an’ Mr. Upton seem to think a heap 
of you,” Harry interrupted. Jack remained 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 269 


in silent recollection. “It seems to me,” Harry 
added, “that when a big, handsome feller saves 
a gal’s life, an’ then helps out her daddy, he 
shouldn’t be so very ticklish ’bout a no account 
kid like me.” 

Jack believed he discovered a little moisture 
gathering in those large brown eyes, and gently 
laying his hand on Harry’s arm, he said, “Kid, 
speakin’ of ‘no account’, I sometimes feel that 
a- way myself.” 

“You, Jack?” 

“ ’Bout the only thing that keeps me straight 
is my sister, Clara. You know what our — 
well — I s’pose I’ll have to call him ‘father’ — ” 

“Jack,” said Harry, “let’s not talk of him now. 
We’ve got to find that money stolen from the 
bank.” 

Jack quickly straightened. “That’s right, 
Kid! An’ after that — Cap’n Kidd I reckon 
when he saw Brosseau ’bout to confess to me 
in the bank, he shot him through the door, but 
the aim was so fast he thought mebbe the 
Frenchman wouldn’t be killed outright an’ 
would tell of this hidin’ place — which he did. 
So, the foxy Kidd didn’t return here to give 
his gang the alarm, but hid near the bank some- 


370 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


whars till night, an’ while we demoralized his 
famous clan, unmolested, he vamosed the de- 
serted town.” 

After a short silence, Harry said, “Thar’s 
one thing I’ve be’n a-tryin’ to figger out: What 
has become of Mrs. Brosseau?” 

“I’ve be’n thinkin’ of that, too. Say! do you 
reckon they’re in the cave?” With sudden 
inspiration Jack walked quickly into the adobe, 
approached a bunk, pulled off the blankets and 
carefully examined the bottom. Discovering 
nothing material he likewise searched the next, 
and the next. Then he bent closer with an 
exultant exclamation. “Look, Kid!” he added. 
Pulling up a loose board forming part of the 
bunk bottom, he peered through. Excitedly 
he pulled out three more loose boards, and there, 
in the floor, was disclosed a trap door! 

The attendants gathered around. “Git a 
few fellers to help,” Jack ordered. “Thar’s 
liable to be rats below!” He cautiously raised 
the covering. “Hey you, down thar!” he called. 
“Come up!” There was no response. “In 
three minutes we’ll burn you out!” Still no 
answer. As Jack gave instructions for “the 
smoker”, a muffled voice below was heard 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 271 


“Hello, down thar!” Again the voice sounded. 
“It’s a female — reckon it’s Mrs. Brosseau! 
Hello, Mrs. Brosseau! Anybody else down thar 
with you?” 

“No, Monsieur Sheriff,” Mrs. Brosseau replied. 

Before anyone could interfere Harry Western 
sprang recklessly down the ladder. “Kid! Kid!” 
called Jack. “Come back. Kid, it might be a 
trick!” However, Harry landed safely. Quickly 
the others scrambled after him. Mrs. Brosseau 
was helped to the room above. 

“Mos’ of the gang’s paraphernalia’s here,” 
said Harry, surveying the underground room. 
“Gee, they shore had a good stock of grub! 
An’ them bags look like gold mines to me!” 

“Thar’s enough yaller boys to pay back the 
Colonel’s loss, I reckon!” Jack jubilantly ex- 
claimed. And they continued the search. 

At once the news spread around camp, 
inducing great excitement, and the entrance 
was jammed with curious plainsmen. 

“Hey, Jack,” called one, “the Colonel an’ 
his darter is here an’ wants to see you. 
They’re a-comin’ down.” 

Jack met them at the bottom of the rough 
ladder. 


272 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Hail the conqueror!” proudly smiled May, 
proffering her ungloved hand. 

Jack took it somewhat embarrassed, and said, 
“Why — what are you a-doin’ here?” 

“She would come!” explained the Colonel. 

And the pretty smile May gave Jack increased 
his agitation so, that, brown as were his sun- 
tanned cheeks, he felt that the hot blood rushing 
to them must surely betray his feelings. Hence, 
he invited them to behold “the missing gold!” 

“Just think what you have done for the 
Colonel,” May admiringly declared, smiling so 
sweetly that Jack felt uncomfortable. 

“You shore have done it, Jack,” warmly com- 
plimented the Colonel. 

“Apache Kidd ain’t here,” Jack despondently 
answered. 

“That’s right, Jack,” May reproved, “be 
discouraged at the time of your greatest triumph! 
Haven’t you broken up that notorious clan!” 


Chapter XXI 


“Why Should I Marry a Rich Duck 
from the States?” 

The Maxwell home ranch bell had rung to 
quit work, and soon the boys would come troop- 
ing in to get ready for supper, when the bell 
would ring again, announcing that the meal was 
awaiting them. 

I Hank was filling a bucket at the pump and 
singing softly to himself. 

“Hank,” Betsy called from the mess-house 
door, “be you a-goin’ to take all night to fill 
that bucket?” 

“Wall, who’s a-doin this? Me or you?” 
Hank retorted. 

“You’re always a-goin’roun’ with a chip on 
yore shoulder!” she fussed. 

“You’re always a-tryin’ to knock it off,” he 
teased. 

“Here, here, here!” said Jack, coming around 
the house, “what’s all this?” He pulled up his 
broncho. 

“Oh,” said Betsy, her face becoming all 
I smiles, “good evenin’, Mr. Jack!” 


274 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Well, I’ll be gosh durned!” Hank exclaimed, 
with uprising jealousy. How differently she 
always treated Jack. 

“Supper perty near ready, Betsy?” Jack 
asked. “I’m hungry as a flea!” 

“That’s why I was scoldin’ Hank,” she re- 
plied. “It takes him all night to git a bucket of 
water.” 

“Git us some good supper, Betsy,” said Jack, 
“ ’cause it’s the last square meal we’ll have fer 
a month to come.” 

About twenty of the boys entered the barn- 
yard, and most of them went directly to the 
pump. Jack walked toward the stable. 

“Say, fellers,” said Green, “this yere Jack 
Morris a-lords it over us, jus’ ’cause he saved 
the Colonel’s darter, whilst us poor devils must 
do all the dirty work! Jack’s got a cinch on us 
an’ we’ve got to do what he says!” 

“This ain’t the only ranch,” said Hank, “an’ 
if youse fellers don’t like the boss, thar’s no law 
as fer as I kin see, to make you stay here.” 

“Listen to the ol’ woman talkin’,” said Green 
sarcastically. 

“When you come on this ranch,” said Hank, 
“we didn’t ask no questions; but don’t think 


WHY MARRY A RICH DUCK ?' 


275 


’cause you’ve worked here a leetle while, you 
own the hull outfit.” 

“Soak ’m! Go fer ’m, Hank! Knock the 
win’ out of ’m! Hank, soak ’im!” the crowd 
yelled, vociferously. 

“Aw, soak yore foot!” Hank taunted, and he 
went into the house. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” the boys laughed. 

“What’s the matter with the ol’ woman?” 
Bill asked. 

“He’s all right!” they replied. 

“Who’s all right?” 

“The ol’ woman!” 

Hank poked his head out of the window. 
“What’s the matter with youse fellers? All 
gone crazy? You think you’re a-goin’ to make 
a fool out of me, don’t you? The hull push of 
you are cock-roaches!” 

“Say, Hank,” jeered Green, “what was yore 
maiden name in Kansas?” 

“It’s none of yore darn business!” 

“Listen at the ol’ woman ravin’,” said Green, 
“like some ol’ Greaser.” 

“By gum, Green,” Hank exclaimed, “a 
greaser is a d — n coward, an’ so’re you.” 

Green drew his six-shooter. 


270 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Shut up, Green. Don’t shoot. It was your 
fault: you made ’im mad. He ain’t armed. 
You made ’im mad — it was your fault,” said 
the crowd. 

“I hain’t got my ‘gun’,” said Hank, “an’ if 
you’re fool enough to fire on an unarmed man, 
shoot an’ be — ” 

They heard Betsy’s voice in the house. 
“Hank,” she said, coming up behind him, “if 
you swear ’nuther word, I’ll pour this tea-kittle 
of boilin’ water down your throat.” 

Hank jumped out the window. 

“Green,” said Red Nose Bill, “bet you drinks. 
Betsy kin bluff you, too.” 

“Well — a boilin’ tea-kittle ain’t no match 
fer a ‘gun’,” Green grinned. 

“What’s the matter with youse fellers?” 
Betsy called from the window. “You act like 
a pack of Injuns. You don’t git no supper till 
you kin act decent.” 

“Oh, Betsy,” said Red Nose Bill, “my 
stomach’s a-turnin’ flip-flops with hunger. I’ll 
be good right now.” 

“We’ll all be good,” said another, “won’t 
we, fellers?” 

Betsy came out, took hold of the rope of the 


“WHY MARRY A RICH DUCK?” 277 

bell on the house, and rang the bell — the second 
bell for supper. 

“Say, fellers,” said Red Nose Bill, “fall in 
line, put yore han’s on the feller’s shoulders in 
front of you an’ we’ll march in the house singin’ 
Hank’s song ’bout Betsy.” 

They formed into position, and marched into 
the grub-house all singing: 

“ ‘Sweet Betsy Ann, sweet Betsy Ann, 

Sweet Betsy Ann from Kansas — 

An’ when she drops her big dark eyes. 

My heart jumps high with joy, an’ cries: 

‘Sweet Betsy Ann, sweet Betsy Ann, 
Sweet Betsy Ann, I love you.’ ” 

Hank stood in the stable door, a dark frown 
on his face. 

“They’re jus’ a-tryin’ thar bes’ to git you mad. 
I wouldn’t let ’em git the bes’ of me. Don’t 
you min’ ’em an’ they’ll soon quit,” advised Bet- 
sy. “Now you go along to supper an’ don’t pay 
any attention to ’em; don’t give ’em any satis- 
faction.” She took his arm and together they 
went in. 

May Maxwell rode toward the stable, just as 
Jack stepped out of the door. 


278 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Be’n out riding?” he smiled. 

“I have been exercising my ‘inspiration* 
again, as well as my physical powers.” 

“Fall in any more quicksand holes ? Any- 
body who gits such an inspiration as to forgit 
where she’s a-goin’ needs a guard to ride with 
her to always be ready to give assistance.” 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t get anyone to accept 
the job.” 

“Couldn’t you? I’m lookin’ fer such a job.” 

“You? I thought you were ‘drive boss’ ? ” 

“I am; but I’d rather stay here.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“Oh — grub’s better. Hank an’ I have made 
a bargain; ‘If I git Betsy to merry me, he gits 
her; if he gits her to merry ’im, I gits her’.” 

“My! Think of the opportunity for rivalry. 
Who will woo the harder? But won’t you come 
over to the house for supper, Jack?” May 
invited. “Now don’t make excuses but come 
along.” 

“But, you see — ” 

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you say that you 
don’t want to come?” 

“Oh, but I do!” 

“We’ll be late if you don’t hurry.” 


“WHY MARRY A RICH DUCKr 279 

“Will we?” 

“Have to eat a cold supper.” 

“Couldn’t we warm it?” 

“We — might not find anything to warm.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! Wouldn’t that be a joke!” Jack 
laughed. 

“A joke! Not in my present state.” 

“Hungry?” 

“I’m nearly starved!” 

“So am I. Could eat clods.” 

They heard the men laughing in the dining- 
hall. “The boys are makin’ the bes’ of their las’ 
night on the ranch.” 

“How long will you be gone on the drive this 
time?” May asked, after a short pause. 

“ ’Bout six weeks,” Jack sighed. “It’ll seem 
six years to me.” 

He walked to the pump and filled the tin cup 
with water. “We don’t git much better water 
than this on the plains. Give me the pure, col’ 
water to quench the burnin’ thirst. What 
tastes better after a hard day’s work, than this 
sparklin’ liquid? So drink, Jack, drink — drink 
to yore heart’s content; you’ve signed no pledge 
so have naught to repent. ’Tis many a day 
afore I kin git such stuff — See the sunset. 


280 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Glorious! See the golden West! Ah, don't 
it warm yore heart to see it at its best?” 

“You should have been a poet.” 

“If you kain’t say anything nice ’bout a 
feller, don’t say anythin' at all.” 

“Honest praise can hurt no one,” smiled May. 

Jack was kicking the clod of adobe which 
lay at his feet, and May was watching him. 
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, after a 
silence. 

“My thoughts? H’m — guess I’m homesick 
already. I don’t hanker much after drinkin’ 
out of mud-holes with dead carcasses lyin’ 
in ’em — mind, I’m not complainin’. I’d rather 
stay here an’ eat apple-pies an’ — be near you,” 
he smiled. 

“Near me?” she said softly, with assumed 
surprise. 

“Shore. How lonesome the plains will seem! 
I’ll be jus’ achin’ to git back. Tomorrow 
mornin' we’ll be on the drive at day-break, an’ 
it’ll be a long time afore I see you ag’in. Lots o’ 
things might happen afore then. You might git 
another ‘inspiration’ an’ drown in a mudhole. 
Or you might git married to some rich duck from 
the states.” 


WHY MARRY A RICH DUCKr 


281 


“No fear of that. I’m a western product, 
and I have no desire to live in a lovely mansion 
in the states. I shall never marry for money.” 

“Do you mean what you say?” 

“My father will see that I am well fixed when 
I marry the right man, and why should I ‘marry 
a rich duck from the states’?” 

“Have you seen yore ‘right man’?” 

“Somewhere in this country there is a man 
I am waiting for, and when we meet, two lives 
will be happy.” 

“He’ll be a lucky duck.” 

“No more than I. The best thing that 
could happen to any girl is to find her mate.” 

“How does a feller know who is the right one?” 
Jack questioned. 

“You feel it; you know it! I can’t tell how; 
but there is a strong natural instinct which 
draws two hearts together.” 

“Then,” said he, “marriage isn’t a lottery 
is it?” 

“Events very often unite two lives.” 

“You mean when a feller’s saved a girl’s life, 
an’ he loves her, he’s got the right to ask her to 
merry him ? Would you merry a feller like 
me?” 


282 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


The young plainsman was unversed in ways 
of gallantry, but at such moments heart speaks 
to heart with a language all love’s own. “You 
are dearer to me than all the world beside,” he 
said simply. 

“Are you sure you are making no mistake?” 
she smiled, blushing prettily. 

“Dead shore,” he cried as he kissed her fondly. 
“I have always loved you — from the first!” 

“Jack, see the west ; the sky is a glowing yellow 
fire with the after-shine of the sunset!” she ex- 
claimed, radiant in the gorgeous light. 

Jack’s clasp tightened : “So is my heart, May!’ 
he smiled. “It’s plumb full of sunshine!” 
And he lovingly kissed the happy, smiling lips. 


Chapter XXII 


“The Higher Nature of Man” 

As the day was breaking with the first faint 
glimmer of sunrise. Jack Morris stepped out 
of the low adobe stable doorway, leading a 
saddle-horse by the bridle. It was too dark 
within to see to do a good job of grooming. 
Jack let the reins hang from the bit to the ground, 
and the well-trained broncho stood as if hitched 
to a post as its master put on the finishing touches 
with the brush. Presently Jack stepped back 
and critically examined the work. Then, with 
a pat, he leaned against the horse and a feeling 
of pride came over him, as he thought of himself 
as a boss of one of the largest cattle-ranches 
in the United States. 

The Colonel was in debt for the saving of 
May’s life, and this fact, together with the 
young man’s sterling qualities, which the 
Colonel’s keen business instinct had not failed 
to discover, had caused the big cattleman to 
make Jack a foreman, and a bright future lay 


284 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


before him. Why should he not feel con- 
tented and proud? He walked briskly to the 
old wooden pump and drank. Again he filled 
the rusty tin cup, but this time it paused before 
his lips, and he contemplated the well-ordered 
adobe buildings. Beyond, he knew, the cattle 
grazed on a vast, green, rolling region of wealth! 
The Maxwell Land Grant, being a little empire 
in itself, contained mines of coal, gold, silver 
and iron, forests of timber, and thousands of 
acres of grazing land. Among the foot-hills 
was found the cinnamon bear, the clear moun- 
tain streams were alive with trout; in the broad, 
beautiful parks on the mesas above were deer, 
grouse and wild turkey. This was a country 
fit for a king! And Jack was to become part 
owner. Only last evening he had become 
engaged to the Colonel’s daughter — Jack’s eyes 
closed and his breast tingled! Was it true, 
or was he only dreaming? 

The measured beats of a horse’s hoofs upon 
the adobe road aroused him from his reverie. 
He turned and beheld his sweetheart! With 
a joyful exclamation, he dropped the cup and 
ran toward her. 

“Good morning, dear,” she smiled. 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 285 


Jack grasped the proffered hand, drew the 
rider to him, and kissed her again and again. 

“Jack, dear,” she warned, “be careful, some- 
one may be looking!” 

“Kain’t help it,” he replied, “you inspire me 
so!” 

They heard the approach of a horse, but so 
taken up were they with each other, that Jack 
had just time to release his sweetheart’s hand 
before a tall rider appeared around the corner 
of the mess-house. Upon suddenly discovering 
the confused lovers, he sharply pulled up his 
broncho, which caused the well-trained animal 
to fall back upon its haunches. “Oh, excuse 
me,” said Ed Maxwell, raising his big sombrero, 
“I didn’t expect to — to see you here.” 

“Mornin’, Ed,” Jack greeted, also uncovering. 
“Goin’ fer a ride?” 

“That’s what we started out fer. But, I 
reckon May would jus’ as soon stay here as ride 
with her brother.” 

“Why, Ed,” May protested, because his words 
implied too plainly that she preferred Jack’s 
company to his, “I was only waiting for you 
to catch up.” 

“Aw! my fool of a broncho got to actin’ frisky, 


286 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


an’ it took me several minutes to quiet him,” 
Ed explained. “But if you’re ready, I am.” 

“All right! You’ll excuse me. Jack?” she 
turned and smiled sweetly. 

“Shore thing. Have a good time,” he casually 
replied, because they had agreed that their 
engagement was to be a secret. 

“Thank you,” she smiled again, and rode 
away. - 

“Doesn’t Ed act queer over his sister?” 
thought Jack as he walked toward the stable 
door. “Wonder if he’s jealous of me?” 

A few feet distant May reined up her horse 
and turned toward Ed, who, instead of following 
her had remained behind and was watching 
Jack entering the stable. 

“Aren’t you coming, Ed?” May asked pres- 
ently. 

“No, I reckon I won’t go ridin’ this mornin\” 
Ed replied ill-humoredly. 

“Why? Just because you saw me talking 
to Jack?” 

He played with the reins a few seconds in 
silence. There is human nature even in a cow- 
boy. It may be made up of distinct parts, 
with a variety of kind and quality, consisting 




“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 287 


not only of one particular vice or virtue, but 
it is a combination of qualities developed by his 
environment. Take the civilized world over, 
man’s individual nature is two-fold: the lower, 
or animal, and the higher, or intellectual. 
These two aggressive powers are constantly at 
war, striving to gain possession of man’s charac- 
ter, the quality of which is fashioned and 
moulded by the dictates of the victor. 

May did not know what was passing through 
her brother’s mind; but he soon dismounted, 
walked up to her horse and stroked its glossy 
neck as he disclosed to her his thoughts: ‘‘Do 
you know that I’m not your real brother?” he 
asked. 

“What!” she exclaimed, apparently unable 
to comprehend the full meaning of his words. 

“Did you ever suspect that I was not your 
real brother?” he repeated. 

“You not my brother?” 

“I’m not. Your father adopted me,” said 
Ed, still stroking the horse’s neck. “I kin well 
remember the days we played together. We 
were little children — them were happy days; 
everything was sunshine!” He paused a mo- 
ment: those happy days of childhood were 


288 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


delightful to look back upon. But his mind 
traveled rapidly as it took in the swift changes 
of life and it soon brought him back to his 
present stage. With an earnest smile, he quickly 
raised his eyes to the girl on the horse, and 
exclaimed, impetuously, “May, I love you! 
Will you be my wife? Will you make me hap- 
pier still?” 

The suddenness quite naturally took her 
breath away; but quickly recovering from the 
surprise, she hesitatingly answered, “I — Ed — 
I can only love you as a sister.” 

The suitor’s expression instantly changed and 
he demanded, “Why not as a wife?” A subtle 
jealousy sprang up within his breast. “You 
love another! Oh! this is a hard blow! All 
these years I’ve loved you. Are you engaged?” 

“Yes,” she answered, very low. 

“To whom?” 

“We’re keeping it a secret.” 

“Tell me,” he insisted. “Oh, I know: it’s 
Jack! — May — I’ve watched you grow up from 
a little gal — we’ve grown up together an’ we 
know each other’s faults an’ good points. 
I’ve watched you blossom from a little gal 
into a stately woman, an’ my love grew very 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 289 


slow an’ is deep-rooted an’ it kain’t be blown 
away by a light wind — but — it must be dashed 
to pieces and utterly destroyed!” 

“Ed!” she rebuked. 

The purpose was evident. This time the 
man’s higher nature was thrown on the defen- 
sive by the terrible aggressiveness of the lower 
nature, which certainly threatened the entire 
possession of his character. And thus the 
flesh spoke: “Of course, everyone can’t be 
lucky enough to save yore life!” 

“Do you suppose that is the reason I am to 
marry Jack?” proudly retorted the girl. 

“Oh, I know!” he said hotly. “What right 
has he to interfere with us anyway?” 

“He asked me first.” 

“But I had first claim. You’re jus’ back 
from college an’ — ” 

“Am I to be staked out like a mine claim?” 
she proudly demanded. 

“I felt you were mine all the time. Now 
yore affections are stolen away!” he cried, half 
dropping his right hand toward his right thigh. 

May was a thoroughbred Western girl, and 
knew the meaning of that movement, and so 
she endeavored to pacify him. “Ed, you must 
take it coolly,” she declared. 


290 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Coolly,” he repeated, bitterly. “How kin 
I when my breast’s on fire? Have I no rights? 
You’ve been away from home so long — ” 

“You can’t blame me, nor anyone else. You 
know the circumstances — stand your loss like a 
man.” 

Ed muttered something through his com- 
pressed teeth about “Circumstances altering the 
case.” Then he said, “I’m not a-goin’ ridin’ 
this mornin’.” 

“Come, Ed, you mustn’t act so foolishly.” 

“I kain’t help it! You don’t savvy how I 
feel. Shall I take you to the house?” 

“No, thank you. I’ll go alone. When 
you can behave a little better than a spoiled 
child I shall be pleased to finish our ride. But 
not in your present humor.” And May rode 
away, leaving Ed standing there to think it over. 

Jack came out of the stable doorway carrying 
his big saddle. The broncho saw it, and im- 
mediately became the image of dejection. When 
Jack threw on the heavy seat, it did not in the 
least change the forlorn expression. But when 
the horse felt the cinch tightening, he drew air 
into his lungs to their fullest capacity, then on 
the sly exhaled, leaving the cinch very loose. 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 291 


This trick often amuses and irritates the horse- 
man. But Jack was not to be fooled, and as he 
drew hard at the forward cinch he placed his 
right foot against the broncho’s body to brace 
himself, and fairly made the brute grunt. 
Jack’s back was toward Ed, who saw his chance! 
On the impulse of the moment he jerked out his 
six-shooter and aimed it at his unsuspecting 
rival. For a second his finger hesitated on the 
trigger. It was a most dramatic moment! 
But Ed did not fire. He placed the deadly 
weapon back in its holster and turned away. 

Was he a murderer at heart? No! The 
cowardly act had been the result of an 
uncontrollable passion kindled by the coals 
of disappointment. 

As Jack was about to mount, the broncho 
became alive on the instant! “Goin’ to pitch?” 
Jack chuckled. “Whoa, you ol’ fool! That’s 
right! you wall-eyed son-of-misery! Pitch! 
Whoa!” He turned and saw Ed standing alone. 
“What, ain’t you a-goin’ ridin’?” 

“No,” Ed replied crossly. 

“Hope I didn’t make any trouble, because I 
wasn’t goin’ with you, anyway,” Jack explained. 

After a silence, Ed confessed, “I’ve been a 
coward!” 


292 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“A coward? If Ed Maxwell’s a coward, I’d 
hate to have to fight a hero!” laughed Jack. 

Such higher nature as Ed’s cannot be spoiled 
by praise. “I am, Jack, a coward!” he bitterly 
exclaimed, “a miserable coward! I’m not Ed 
Maxwell in reality, but I’m only adopted as 
such — ” 

“No! It’s a fable!” gasped Jack, hardly be- 
lieving his ears. 

“It’s the truth.” 

“Well — how does that make you a coward?” 

“I asked May to be my wife, an’ — she loves 
you! When you was cinchin’ yore saddle, with 
yore back toward me, I was tempted to kill you.” 

“Kill me?” 

“Shore; from behind!” 

“Ed,” said Jack, putting out his hand, “is it 
fair play?” 

Ed was struggling with a fierce passion, but 
he crowded it beneath the higher nature of man, 
and accepted his rival’s proffered hand. “Yes, 
it will be fair play. Jack.” 

Jack was perfectly aware of the jealous nature 
he would have to deal with in the future, and he 
desired to have a better understanding. “Ed,” 
said he, “we both love May, but both kain’t 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 293 


merry her. One of us must lose, but which one?” 

The question acted on Ed’s passionate nature 
like oil on a fire. “Which one!” he burst out, 
dropping his right hand on his Colt’s. “S’pose 
some day they found yore bones on the prairie!” 

“Ed, you wouldn’t do so cowardly a thing as 
to kill me in cold blood?” Jack answered dis- 
dainfully. “An’ if you try to kill me fairly, I 
reckon I kin take care of myself!” 

A bad temper very often breaks out only to 
learn that it is wholly unsupported and if taken 
advantage of, what is the result? It falls a 
victim to a greater force, which coolly appoints 
the time and applies the original laws of man’s 
higher nature. This higher nature in one indi- 
vidual will overrun the lower nature in another, 
as certain characters charm the vicious animals 
of the lower kingdom. The stronger mind has 
influence over the weaker. And how weak, how 
very weak, is a bad temper! 

Ed saw the evil but not the remedy, and thus 
he confessed a greater weakness. “I wouldn’t 
trust myself, if you merried her an’ I’d have 
a chance to use this — ” 

“Jus’ the same, Ed, I’m a-goin’ to merry her.” 

“You are!” The Colt’s leaped from its holster. 


294 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Put yore c gun’ back,” smiled Jack disdain- 
fully. 

“No, you’ll have to fight fer her!” 

“You’ve got the drop on me.” 

“We’ll stan’ back to back, and step off fifteen 
paces — then turn an’ fire!” 

“You know my shot,” Jack warned, and Ed 
knew that the man before him had the reputation 
of the deadliest shot in all the Southwest. 

“You might’s well kill me as take her from me,” 
said Ed, respectfully acknowledging Jack’s rep- 
utation. But a nature of Ed’s temperament 
does not consider either life or death in such a 
case; so it demanded the animal’s method of 
settling the dispute: to fight! “Draw!” he 
ordered. “She’s life to me, an’ if you take her 
you’ll have to take me, too!” 

“I reckon neither one of us will miss at thirty 
yards,” said Jack; “it’ll be an easy hip-shot, an’ 
plunk! There’ll be two crazy fools for the devil. 
An’ say, if we’re both killed she’ll merry some 
other feller! Wouldn’t that be great!” 

“Say, I kain’t stan’ fer that,” said Ed. “Kin 
you?” 

“I guess not. Tell you what we’ll do, oY 
man, we’ll play poker an’ the winner gits her. 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 295 


It’ll save both our lives an’ no blood spilt. 
You see, Ed, if one of us happened to escape 
injury in a duel, he would be in danger of the 
law, an’ though he won her — but I’m afraid 
May wouldn’t merry a man with blood on his 
soul — he couldn’t live in peace. Poker’s better 
than gun-play.” 

“Then let it be poker,” said Ed. There was 
a finer trait in him than his sentence implied. 
But the quality of his higher nature — which 
was magnificently drawn out by the influence 
of Jack’s intellectual power — was felt, rather 
than explained, it being more eloquent than 
words. 

Jack started toward the bunk-house for his 
cards; but he stopped and turned: “Say, won’t 
poker take too long? Besides, ol’ man, with 
such a stake at hand, I reckon we wouldn’t 
play a very scientific game; we’d be too rattled! 
What do you say ’bout tossin’ up a coin?” 

“That would be quicker. Well, here goes,” 
said Ed, flipping a quarter into the air. 

“Heads!” called Jack. 

Ed caught the little piece of money in his 
hand and eagerly looked at it. “Tails!” he 
joyfully cried. “You try yore luck.” 


296 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Jack produced a quarter and likewise tossed 
it into the air. 

“Tails!” called Ed. 

Jack caught the little piece of silver and after 
quickly glancing at it, cried: “Heads! Now, 
we’re even, we’re even! Throw it up ag’in, 
Ed, an’ this time tells the tale!” 

Again Ed tossed up the quarter and again he 
caught it with a beating heart. 

“Heads!” he exclaimed. “She’s mine! You 
called ‘Tails’!” 

Jack gazed stupidly at the coin, then he cried, 
“My God! you’ve won! I’ve lost her — you’re 
the winner!” His dilated eyes still rested on 
the quarter, but he seemed to be unable to com- 
prehend the message that they had telegraphed 
to his brain. 

He felt a touch on his arm, and he heard a 
voice murmuring like the falling of distant 
water: “Jack, I wish I could say something to 
cheer you, but I kain’t, because I don’t know 
what to say.” Then as in a dream a hand ap- 
peared before him and he grasped it, saying, 
“Ed, the best man won!” And slowly he walked 
toward the stable: the sympathetic words com- 
ing from Ed’s rough, but big heart, caused his 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 297 


emotions to swell and he could not bear to show 
his weakness. 

“Takes it perty hard,” Ed soliloquized, look- 
ing after Jack. “But it’s lucky he suggested 
the coin instead of a duel.” And in great 
ecstacy he swung into his big saddle and the 
broncho loped away. 

Jack leaned against the adobe wall of the 
stable for support, his breath coming and going 
in long, deep sighs! That which we cannot 
have, we want the more. So it was with him. 
He had lost his sweetheart by the toss of a coin, 
and no more as lovers would they meet, because 
a bargain is a bargain with a plainsman and his 
word is his bond. He clutched the loosely 
knotted handkerchief at his throat, and the 
fire of passion burned hot within his breast! 
Could he stay chained to the stake and stand 
the awful torture? No, it was beyond human 
endurance! He must go; but how could he 
leave all his ambitions behind. Had he not 
almost reached the top of the ladder? How 
could he go down again? Not half an hour ago 
he felt proud, for then his hopes were high. 
But now he felt cheerless. A little while ago 
he was in the highest spirits, but now his spirit 


298 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

was broken. The ranch which had made him 
swell with pride as its foreman now seemed a 
thing which has ceased to exist. The future, 
that had shone so brightly, now was dark. The 
cool morning breeze that was so fresh and 
crisp, now felt heavy and depressing! 

His dull senses were aroused by the Colonel’s 
voice: “Ain’t you feelin’ well. Jack?” 

“M-mornin’, Colonel,” Jack responded. “Oh 
— I reckon I was sort of dreamin’. Say, you 
wouldn’t care to lease the Cimarron Outfit, 
would you?” 

“Well — that’s one of the best rentin’ ranches 
in the Maxwell Land Grant.” 

“Shore. It rents fer a thousand, don’t it?” 

“An’ I’m a-goin’ to raise the rent.” 

“You wouldn’t care to consider a lease fer one 
third of its income?” 

“H’m! Depends on who wants it.” 

“I’d like to lease it.” 

“You!” 

“Shore,” said Jack, folding his arms on his 
chest and crossing his right high-heeled riding 
boot over the left. There was a short silence 
in which Jack dropped his eyes from the 
Colonel’s scrutiny. 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 299 


“Ain’t you satisfied here?” the Colonel in- 
quired, as Jack remained silent and continued to 
gaze at his heavy Mexican spur. 

The Colonel could not perfectly understand 
why a young man with such bright prospects 
should contemplate a change and he quite 
naturally expected an explanation, but as Jack 
had offered none, he had put the question. 

“Shore, Colonel, shore,” Jack quickly assever- 
ated. “But, you see,” he apologized, “I’d 
like to try ranchin’ on my own hook.” 

“Perty hard to make it go without capital,” 
the big cattle king warned. “Tain’t like it 
used to be; then anybody could rustle a few 
mavericks* an’ git rich.” 

“Yes, I know, Colonel, but I’d like to try it 
anyhow.” 

“Now, see here, Jack,” said his employer, 
laying his hand on his left arm, “I intended to 
give you a ranch when — well — when you — 
h’m — when a man saves a woman’s life, she 
ought to be — well — when you merried my 
daughter!” Jack glanced at the Colonel with a 
start. “Oh, you two’ll git merried; see if you 
don’t! I’ve suspicioned it right along.” 

*A maverick is a wild “cow” on the range and the one coming 
across it had the right to claim it as his own. 

V , 7 , 


300 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“How?” asked Jack, not knowing what else to 
say, and feeling that a reply was expected. 

“Seen you two so much together,” the Colonel 
winked. “Jack, that May cares fer you I’ve 
observed in many little ways; an’ I’ll bet you 
children were afraid to ask my consent an’ sort 
of put it off. But I’ll tell you frankly, my boy, 
it’s not my ambition that my girl merry fer 
public or high social relations. My desire is to 
have her the wife of a man who regards his home 
as the throne of his love and joy and honor. . . . 
Since May’s be’n back East to college, she’s 
got a fool notion — an’ I’ve not taken kindly to 
her desire to write for the stage, because it will 
throw her in company with actors — still, I 
must confess that my nephew is an excellent 
feller, though he is an actor — an’ I thought if 
May would settle down to the duties an’ the 
responsibilities of a wife, the theatre might 
lose its charms.” 

“She’ll be a great writer some day, an’ she 
should merry her equal,” Jack mused. 

“Men ain’t loved because they’re great,” 
the Colonel declared. 

“She told me that the stage today wasn’t 
the stage of yesterday: actors are becomin’ 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 301 


more refined. The ambitious ones who are 
determined to reach the top are people of the 
highest ideals.” 

“Oh-ho!” exclaimed the Colonel. “So, she’s 
be’n educatin’ you — eh? Well, I’m not at all 
surprised. She’s given more than one of the 
boys fever!” 

“I’ve learned a lot of things from her. You 
know. Colonel, in a country like this, where 
there’s so few good women, us men folks often 
fergit that we have intellectual powers, an’ 
cultivate only our lower an’ baser nature.” 

“Have you be’n attendin’ night school?” 
the Colonel joked. But, of course, he had not 
fathomed Jack’s meaning, and he wittingly 
endeavored to sound it, being curious to ascer- 
tain the cause of such seriousness. As Jack 
made no reply, the Colonel asked: “What were 
you sayin’ ’bout cultivatin’ our lower nature?” 

“Why, I was thinkin’ how far above the animal 
nature of man are the powers of the human 
brain,” answered Jack vaguely. 

“Why — yes — I — believe so,” the Colonel 
remarked incomprehensibly. “But I’d like to 
know whar you was last night!” 

Jack seemed not to have heard and as he 


302 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


gazed into space the Colonel knew that his 
thoughts were on a subject of which he had 
given sudden, incoherent flashes, which were 
puzzling, because the thoughts had poured 
forth from a strangely affected intellect, and 
naturally enough, Jack had borrowed them from 
the very feminine individual who was now the 
cause of the inspiration. Had not the Colonel’s 
daughter often debated with Jack on the quali- 
ties of character? But little did she dream that 
the force of her words would some day be the 
means of bringing out the higher elements of 
Jack’s character, which also had influenced 
those in his rival’s, and thereby their physical 
natures bowed to the mental. These thoughts 
as they were planted in Jack’s brain as by in- 
spiration, first surprised, then captivated it, 
and took possession. 

The Colonel questioned no further and a 
silence ensued. 

“Yes,” said he, changing the subject, and 
resuming a former one, “I’ll admit that the stage 
has some fine people, but I’m very anxious to 
see May established upon a ranch or in some 
pretty little home in some civilized city. When 
I endeavor to point out to her the pitfalls. 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 303 


the snares, and temptations of the life connected 
with the stage, she pleads earnestly fer the 
theatre an’ its people. 

“She says, ‘The art is beautiful, an 5 if it’s 
my aim to reach the top, nothing can embarrass 
the aim of my ambition. Ah! the art is beauti- 
ful — beautiful!’ I kain’t order her to quit 
writin’, but jus’ advise with her an’ let her take 
her own course. In a short time, her cousin, 
the actor, will arrive, and they will work on a 
new play. I’m very perplexed. I’ve often 
wondered why I allowed her to go back East to 
College.” 

The Colonel paused. 

As he did so. Jack’s old-time jovial nature 
rallied somewhat, and he smiled slightly, as 
he spoke: “So, Colonel, you wish me to merry 
yore daughter jus’ to save her from the stage?” 
At the same time there was a touch of sadness 
in his whole expression. 

“I think the world of you, J ack. I’ve watched 
you very closely, an’ you’re jus’ the man I’d 
like to have my daughter merry. I’m very 
glad to see you two so much together.” 

A cloud crossed Jack’s face: “Colonel, Ed’s 
the winner!” 


304 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“What do you mean?” 

“May an’ I always supposed that Ed was 
yore son— till he told us — ” 

“Then you know he’s not my son?” 

“He jus’ told us afore you came — an’ — he’s 
a-goin’ to merry her.” 

Knowing the fierce passions nestling in the 
breasts of these rough rival plainsmen, who 
might resort to “gun-play” at the slightest 
provocation, the Colonel anxiously probed Jack 
to ascertain his contemplations regarding the 
prospects of being the disappointed one. “You 
know Ed’s fiery temper?” he asked. “When 
he sets his mind on a thing he generally gits it.” 

“He does,” was Jack’s low response. Then 
he added, “We done the best we knowed how. 
But we did come mighty near makin’ a bad mess 
of it, Colonel. Then we come to our senses an’ 
tossed up fer yore daughter’s hand — Ed won!” 

After a short silence the Colonel exclaimed, 
“Now, I reckon I savvy why you tried to tell 
me ’bout man’s intellectual powers being far 
above his lower nature! An’ my boy, although 
I’m very, very sorry fer you, I’m exceedingly 
glad to hear that you’ve settled it without 
blood-shed. 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 305 


“For yore benefit, an 5 to save you from passin* 
through my awful experience. I’ll tell you my 
story. A long time ago I had a rival and he 
threatened to kill me if I didn’t stay away from 
a certain gal. One day I learned that he was 
hidin’ to ambush me. I crawled up behind him 
an’ shot him jus’ as he was about to fire on 
Andy who had changed clothes with me, so 
that the feller would think he was me, and I 
thereby caught him in the very act!” 

In his hate toward the Colonel’s cowardly 
rival Jack was ruled by the old severe spirit and 
custom of the plains, when everyone’s lawyer 
was his Colt’s as it were, and he exclaimed, 
“You done the right thing, Colonel!” 

“Ah, so I believed at the time. But later I 
learned different. I left his body lyin’ where it 
fell, rode to town an’ notified the sheriff. Of 
course, I was told by everyone that I had done 
the right thing.” 

“You shore did,” Jack affirmed. 

“About four years afterwards, to revenge 
his death, his friends killed my wife an’ son, 
Edward!” 

“Colonel!” 

“Ah, my boy, let it be a terrible warnin’ to 
you — the darkest hour of my life!” 


800 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Didn’t you ever find the murderers?” 

“No, although I hounded the whole United 
States.” 

“If I had caught one of ’em, I would’ve tied 
his quiverin’ body to a cactus plant an’ made 
him die of thirst an’ starvation!” Jack ex- 
claimed. 

The Colonel saw written on Jack’s face all 
his physical hatred aroused to savagery. “Don’t 
my boy, don’t fergit that the higher nature of 
man is best. Yore expression seems to bring 
back to me all the grief an’ the rage I have stifled 
in my breast! 

“Ah, but those days the six-shooter was the 
law — an’ it certainly was a lawless country. 
But the written law has changed it, as it is now 
changing the great Southwest. Believe me. 
Jack — for I speak from bitter experience — 
shootin’ ain’t the bes’ way to settle love-affairs.” 

“That’s what we thought; so we tossed up 
— an’ I lost!” 

“Then it’s settled fer good?” 

Jack tried to look the Colonel bravely in the 
face as he replied: “Yes, Colonel, fer good!” 

The Colonel warmly grasped the proffered 
hand and exclaimed, “Thank God, Jack, you’re 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 307 

a man! Thar’s somethin’ in yore eyes which 
appeals to me!” 

Jack turned away. 

The Colonel laid his hand on Jack’s shoulder, 
saying, “Soon after the death of my wife an’ 
my son, I saw a little orphant who looked so 
much like my son that I adopted him, callin’ 
him by the name of my murdered son, Edward. 
Then I left the place with my new son and May, 
and came here. Not long after my arrival my 
father died, leaving all his land to me. That 
was long ago, an’ the people have forgotten all 
’bout it. My boy, I am very glad that you an’ 
Ed weren’t such fools, an’ settled it as you 
did. Otherwise, I am afraid, my boy, you would 
have brought on the same trouble. 

“Ed has been a good son to me, but he kain’t 
trust his temper. Poor feller, he tries mighty 
hard to break it, but it will git the best of him 
sometimes. When I adopted him I didn’t 
anticipate his failin’ in love with my daughter. 
As he has done so, lovin’ her fer all these years, 
I’m afraid that he kain’t stand to see you step 
between, as he believes, an’ consequently it would 
have to be a bad mess — although you took 
a gambler’s chance, I reckon you’ve settled the 


308 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


rivalry the best way under the circumstances. 
I won’t try to say any more to you, jus’ now, my 
boy; words kain’t express the gratitude I feel 
in my heart toward you. I’ll — I’ll jus’ step 
into the stable to see that hoss I bought last 
night!” 

Jack watched the Colonel agitatedly disappear 
within the stable door. Then he slowly walked 
toward the pump. It was there that he had 
won May’s hand just last evening; it was there 
he had beheld her ride around the corner of the 
mess-house not a little time since, and high 
were his spirits raised by success and hope and 
love! But now where was all his elation? 
Gone! Instead of the proud and overjoyed 
Jack who had held the tin cup before his lips 
as he paused to glance over the property under 
his authority, now he despondently raised the 
cup to his burning lips, and eagerly drained it to 
the last drop. It fell from his hand: “To 
h-11 with water! Whiskey’s what I need!” 
He ran his fingers through the black curls hang- 
ing over his forehead and sank slowly on the 
water trough. “No — no, not that! She taught 
me to give it up, an’ so help me, God, I’ll not 
touch one drop!” With a deep sigh he sank 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 309 


back supporting his head on his clenched hands. 

A voice aroused him. 

“Jack, dear,” said May, laying a hand upon 
his arm, “has Ed said anything to you about me ? 5 

“May,” said Jack, rising and removing his 
sombrero, “I kain’t trust myself to speak jus 5 
now. Ed has something to tell you which will 
explain matters . 55 

“Why this sudden change, Jack? A short 
time ago — when you first met me this morning, 
you were very happy and I felt the same. 
Now I seem to feel something dreadful will 
happen . 55 

Jack’s eyes would not meet hers, but rested 
on his sombrero as he mechanically turned it 
in his hands. Then with a great effort he raised 
his eyes and met her penetrating look and 
faltered: “May, I guess our engagement’s got 
to be broken off!” 

“Jack!” she cried, “don’t you love me?” 

“Ed loves you!” he cried almost brutally. 

“And you, Jack, don’t you?” she implored. 

With a convulsive contraction the sombrero 
was crushed in his hands! “Love you?” he 
repeated, with wounded feelings, grieved by the 
doubt as he at first believed. Then the reali- 


310 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


zation came to his disordered brain that she had 
not doubted him, but was unable to comprehend 
his strange manner. “Ed won — I lost,” he 
said incoherently. 

“Won what? I do not understand.” 

“You know Ed’s temper?” 

“Yes?” May replied, questioningly. She 
could not comprehend Jack’s motive for re- 
ferring at this time to Ed’s temper. 

But his answer in the form of a question was 
as complicated as ever: 

“S’pose I merried you — what then ? There’d 
be a fight, an’ Ed or I would git killed.” 

“No, no! Not that!” May shuddered. 

“If I merried you, Ed couldn’t stan’ — ” 

“Did he tell you that he’s not my brother?” 

“Yes, an’ if I merried you, he’d do something 
rash an’ you’d be miserable! So we talked it 
over an’ settled it the bes’ we could — tossed up, 
an’ Ed won.” 

“You don’t mean to tell me that you gambled 
over me?” 

“I know it ain’t etiquette to cry over the 
loss of a game — but who ever heard of a crazy 
fool tossin’ up fer his sweetheart! If a cow- 
puncher won’t bet, I reckon there’s somethin* 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 311 


wrong with him — when he gambles away his 
sweetheart!” 

“Do you think I have nothing to say?” May 
demanded. “Have I no rights? I have ac- 
cepted you as my fiance; we have plighted 
troth, and now, must I take back that promise? 
Cannot I marry the man I love, when that man 
loves me?” 

Jack believed himself in duty bound to pave 
the way for Ed. “Ed will make you happy,” 
said he brokenly. 

“Not without you, Jack!” 

“Remember, May, you’re rich an’ kin have 
ever’thing.” 

“Not without you, Jack!” 

Her persistency, tender in its appeal, carried 
a mighty temptation with it, and Jack weakly 
pleaded, “Don’t talk that a-way. May, you’ll 
make me fergit myself — my promise to Ed! 
You’ll make me go back on my word, fer I love 
you more than life itself!” 

But she heeded not his urgent entreaty. 
“Ah, Jack, don’t you remember how you saved 
me from the very jaws of death? Don’t you 
remember what good times we have had to- 
gether?” 


312 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Will I ever fergit ’em!” Then he threw off 
all restraint and passionately kissed her face, 
her hands, her hair. “I love you May. Why 
should we part?” he cried fiercely. “Why should 
I give you up? You gave yourself to me; you’re 
mine! My gal, how kin I let you go? My gal! 
My gal!” 

An angry exclamation behind startled them. 
Ed’s approach on his broncho had been unob- 
served by the lovers. “What does this mean!” 
he demanded sternly. “Have you so soon 
forgotten our agreement, Jack?” 

“Do you think that I kin fergit it so soon?” 
Jack retorted. 

“It’s best fer all concerned in this deal that 
you keep yore hands off of her!” Ed threatened 
hotly. 

“Ed,” said Jack, “I want to be square. I’m 
not lookin’ fer trouble, but if it comes my way 
I won’t dodge it!” 

Ed’s hand dropped on his six-shooter but 
before it was drawn, May had sprung in front 
of Jack to shield him with her body. “Don’t 
forget, Ed, that you are a man!” said she 
sternly. 

“I thought I could trust you, Jack, but you’ve 
played me false,” Ed exclaimed menacingly. 


THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 3 1 3 


Jack fearlessly stepped out from behind 
his sweetheart and as he drew himself up to his 
full height in his high-heeled riding boots, 
heavily spurred, his chaps, his six-shooter 
slung at his hip, the faded blue shirt, the big 
red silk handkerchief knotted loosely at his 
sun-browned throat, the big sombrero; all his 
being seemed to protest! “Ed,” he quietly re- 
plied, “I tossed up with you to save blood-shed 
an 5 why should I play you false now? I lost to 
you an 5 she’s no more mine — our engagement’s 
broken off. I won’t be here much longer; 
I’m a-goin’ away. If I stayed here May an’ I 
couldn’t be separated by the turn of a coin — it’s 
beyond human nature — an’ thar’d be trouble. 
Fer her sake I’ll leave.” 

He turned and walked slowly toward the bunk- 
house. 

Ed knew that Jack’s word was good, and even 
his jealousy fell before it; he had to acknowledge 
to himself that his rival was true as steel — 
but in his irascible mood he would not openly 
admit it, and therefore as Jack rode away, he 
offered no apology. 

“Ed,” said May sternly, “do you think that 
I can stand this? Do you think for a minute 


314 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


that I will submit to it? Do you think that the 
flip of a coin will separate Jack and me?” 

“A bargain’s a bargain,” Ed sullenly replied. 

“If Jack breaks off his engagement with me, 
do you think that I’ll marry you?” 

“If I kain’t have you, neither kin he,” barked 
the dog in the manger, as he dismounted. 

“And you have come to this!” she retorted 
scornfully. “Your love for me is simply a 
jealous passion. It may smolder on for years 
then, like a volcano, break forth in a destructive 
flame, consuming hearts, happiness; destroying 
faith and even life. I shall have a talk with 
Jack and if he decides not to break off our en- 
gagement, I will marry him in spite of you!” 
Her dark eyes flashed, she looked superb in her 
scornful beauty. 

“He gave me his word,” Ed replied triumph- 
antly, because now, in a calmer mood, he knew 
that with Jack “a bargain was a bargain” and 
his word could be relied upon. 

“Yes!” cried May, “you have stolen Jack 
from me, and separated us for all time!” She, 
too, was fully acquainted with Jack’s principles 
and recognized that he would keep his promise 
whatever the cost. 

********* 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN” 315 

As Jack led his broncho out the stable door he 
saw someone carrying a lantern, coming toward 
him. 

“That you. Jack?” a voice asked from the 
darkness. 

“Shore, Ed,” Jack replied. “Whar’ve you 
be’n all day? They be’n lookin’ fer you every - 
whar.” 

“I don’t know whar I have been, except that 
I was fighting it out all day with myself.” He 
came up to Jack and said: “It’s all my fault; 
I’m an old fool! My jealousy an’ temper will 
be the ruination of me! But I’ve come to beg 
yore pardon. Jack; kin you shake the han* 
of such an ass as me?” 

Jack warmly grasped the proffered hand and 
exclaimed: “By jinks, if it ain’t Ed Maxwell 
ag’in, after all!” 

The reconciliation of these rough souls was 
very touching. It was an intellectual conquest 
of the lower nature: the brute’s instinct was 
to fight, but the spirit of man’s higher nature 
predominated. 

“Jack,” said Ed, still retaining the other’s 
hand in his right, and placing his left on it, 
“I kain’t separate you an’ May this way — 


316 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


an’ I’m a-goin’ away. I’ve loved her so long — 
to see her taken away from me, took the man 
in me with her an’ left behind the beast! That’s 
why I drew my gun on you. But I’ve fought 
it out all day an’ that coin don’t cut any figger 
with yore engagement.” 

“A bargain’s a bargain,” Jack stubbornly 
answered. 

“Listen to me, Jack. You and May loved 
each other an’ I’ve stepped in between you.” 

“No, you won, an’ won fairly!” 

“Am I a-goin’ to separate two hearts jus’ 
because a little coin happened to turn my way? 
No!” 

“Yes, Ed, but remember our bargain — ” 

Again Ed’s temper became ungovernable and 
he burst out: “D — that bargain. Jack! If 
you love the girl, merry her!” Then he added 
calmly — and it was the magnanimous heart of 
the Ed of old that spoke — “Jack, you’re jus’ 
the man fer her! Take her and be happy.” 

Hastily, and as though fearing to trust him- 
self further, Ed put his foot in the stirrup of the 
saddle on Jack’s broncho and said, “Well, my 
frien’, I’m off.” He swung into the big seat 
and reined up the impatient horse. “You’ll 


“THE HIGHER NATURE OF MAN ” 317 

tell ’em not to worry ’bout me, an’ say to ’em 
that I couldn’t bear to meet ’em fer the las’ time!” 

Jack did not know what to say, so stood em- 
■ barrassed. 

Then, after a short pause, Ed continued: 
“Jack, I’ve treated you an’ May rotten! But 
I’m awful sorry. You merry her an’ forgit me. 
An’ say, tell the Colonel he’s be’n like a father 
to me, an’ I’m too ashamed of myself to see 
him afore I go. May told me what she thought 
of me an’ she’s right!” 

“Don’t blame yourself, Ed,” said Jack, be- 
cause he knew of the tempest raging within his 
breast and really felt sorry for him. 

“Blame myself?” Ed repeated. “I’m too 
sore at myself to blame myself — I hate myself!” 

He struck home the spurs and Jack’s broncho 
responded. “So long, Jack, so long!” Ed called 
back. 

“Ed!” protested Jack. 

The darkness soon hid Ed from Jack’s view, 
but he could hear on the evening breeze the 
measured hoof-beats of his fast-retreating 
broncho upon the adobe road, as they became 
fainter and fainter. 

“Well,” sighed Jack, “he’s welcome to my 


318 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


bronc* an’ saddle. But I’ll be hanged!” He 
simply could not comprehend Ed’s actions! 

He remained a long time gazing into the dark- 
ness, till he could discern the hoof-beats no 
longer. Then he turned away, picked up the 
lantern left behind by Ed, and walked slowly 
toward the mess-house. 

Whose was the triumph of that hour? 


Chapter XXIII 
The Loser Wins 

Jack sat beside the table in the mess-house, 
his left elbow was resting on it and his chin was 
in the palm of his hand. The broadbrimmed 
white hat was pushed back on his head and his 
right leg was thrown across his left knee. He 
was thinking. On the table lay some paper and 
a pencil. An old oil lamp burned dimly, and 
slowly the flame crawled up. Then it began 
to smoke a little. 

“Look at your lamp. Jack,” said Clara, en- 
tering the room. 

“Never seen the likes of that blamed lamp!” 
said he, rising and turning it down. “Now, 
look at that chimney!” His sister paused; 
“I believe there was something on your mind,” 
she added. 

“I’d sort of like to live in a city an’ have an 
education like you,” he answered, after a short 
silence. 

“How strange is life! The ranchers long for 
the city, and we city folks long for the ranch. 


320 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


When I first went ho ’Frisco I was lost, the city 
ways were so different from the prairie freedom.” 

“You seem like another girl to me now; our 
ways of livin’ are separatin’ us farther an’ farther 
apart! When we lived in Old Mexico we kids 
used to play horse together an’ make mud-pies. 
One day I’ll never fergit: we was called to 
Ma’s bedside to hear her last words. She took 
our little hands in hern an’ said, ‘My children, 
I’m goin’ to the other shore.’ W r e buried our 
faces in the blankets and cried as if our little 
hearts would break. The end slowly drew 
near. She put yore hand in mine and said, 
‘My son, take care of your sister; protect an’ 
make her happy.’ Then lookin’ up she prayed 
fer us, an’ died. By an’ by they come, took her 
away an’ she was tak’n from us ferever! 
How lonesome the world became! How dark 
the days grew! Sometimes in the starry 
sky at night I thought I’d see her smilin’ face! 
I seemed to hear a voice callin’, ‘Jack, Jack,’ an’ 
I’d look around expectin’ to see her by my side. 
It was only the wind mockin’ me! I’d run 
from the spot to you an’ in yore face I saw 
mother’s!” 

After a short silence, Clara said, stroking 


THE LOSER WINS 


821 


Jack’s curly hair, “But some day we’ll see 
mother again.” 

“I’m afraid not, Sis. Just think who our 
father was!” 

“Jack, we can’t help what we were born, but 
we can help what we are. Our father has noth- 
ing to do with our lives now.” 

“But I’m so rough!” 

“Look at the noble oak: rough on the out- 
side, but beneath its roughness it is strong and 
can weather the storms. When polished how 
beautifully the rough oak shines!” 

“I shore am a rough one! An’ folks seem 
to pity us so on account of our illustrious father! 
If they’d only put us in our class!” 

“Yes, but our hearts are the same as when 
we knelt at mother’s bedside,” said his sister, 
taking his hand between her own. 

“They shore are, Sis! I’ve tried to be square 
all my life. Be’n up against some perty hard 
propositions!” 

Betsy burst into the room: 

“You’re gittin’ altogether too familiar with 
Jack!” 

“Well, Betsy,” Clara smiled, “I don’t know 
who has a better right.” 


322 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I have!” Betsy snapped. “Here you’ve 
run off an’ left us to take kere of Jack, an’ now 
you come back an’ git all the glory!” 

“Why, Betsy, I’m not taking any of your 
‘glory’ — as you put it.” 

“Yes you be! Think I didn’t see you holdin’ 
han’s through the keyhole!” 

Clara smiled. 

“It would be a pretty hard matter to hold 
hands through the keyhole,” she declared, after 
a short pause. 

“Huh! think you’re awful smart! All I 
wants you to understand is, that no man kin 
ask me to make apple pies an’ flirt with his 
sister!” 

Betsy swept proudly out. Jack looked at his 
sister and they smiled. 

“Wonder what Betsy will say when she learns 
’bout my engagement to May Maxwell?” mused 
Jack. 

“Jack, so you are engaged to the Colonel’s 
daughter!” asked Clara. 

“Broke it off an’ I’m up a stump!” 

“Did you quarrel or did the Colonel object?” 

“Gambled with another feller an’ he won!” 

“Gambled over your sweetheart?” 


THE LOSER WINS 


323 


“May wouldn’t stand fer it; the other feller 
ran away an’ now I must become re-engaged. 
I’m kinder backward ’bout goin’ at it. If it 
was to ride a pitchin’ broncho or somethin,’ I 
wouldn’t mind it so much; but to ask a girl to 
merry you after you’d throwed her down — 
why! I’d rather take my chances on foot in the 
worst stampede!” 

“But, Jack, don’t you know there is more 
pleasure in making up after a little trouble, than 
having things just go along lovey-dovey?” 

“S’pose she refused me?” 

“Don’t you be afraid. She won’t. If girls 
refused men as often as men fooled girls, there 
would be very few marriages. When a girl 
loves a man she will always give in — no matter 
if he has broken off his engagement on the ac- 
count of a toss-up,” smiled Clara. 

“I’d rather be left on the middle of the plains 
without a bronc’ than ask her again! By 
jinks! it’s a ticklish business!” 

“Jack, I can very plainly see that the more 
excuses you make to put off asking her, the more 
you can’t help asking her, and the more you 
will make up your mind to ask her. Why not 
grit your teeth, clinch your hands, shut your 


324 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


eyes , and jump right in? Don’t hesitate. 
Your heart is on the turn; don’t leave it half 
ajar but go to her now and throw it wide open!” 

“You are shore she won’t throw me down?” 

“You put your arm around her and see!” 

“S’pose she don’t love me now? Thar’s 
whar the hitch comes in.” 

“You can very easily find out by asking.” 

“If I only knowed what she’d say before I 
ask her, I’d go right now — but — what if she’d 
say, ‘No’!” 

Just then, Daisy, the Colonel’s housekeeper, 
entered with a flourish. 

“Miss Morris, I say, Miss Morris,” said she, 
grandly sweeping her skirt, “how do I look? 
Does my skirt hang right on all sides? Now, 
what do you think of my hair?” She discovered 
Jack and exclaimed, in an embarrassed tone: 
“Oh, excuse me, Jack.” 

“Women will be women,” Jack laughed. 
“Clothes an’ vanity.” 

“Women aren’t vain!” the girls exclaimed in 
chorus. 

“If this ain’t vanity, I’d like to know what 
you call it,” said Jack, surveying Daisy’s new 
dress. 


THE LOSER WINS 


325 


“What do you wear those tight boots for? 
If that isn’t style, what is it?” Clara asked. 

“We wear our boots small so we kin easily 
jerk our feet out of the stirrups, when Mr. 
Bronc’ gits ugly an’ sun-fishes; we don’t 
want to git caught an’ smashed,” Jack answered. 

“If your big hat isn’t style, what do you call 
it?” 

“In the sun it is a shade-tree, an’ in the rain 
it is an umbrella.” 

“Why do you wear your belt at such a graceful 
slant?” 

“We wear our belts loose so our guns hang at 
our hips an’ we do not feel thar weight.” 

“That bright red silk kerchief around your 
neck?” 

“Protection ’gainst the hot winds; also to 
cover up our mouths.” 

“Those fancy buckskin gloves ? Those chaps ?” 

“Protection against the thorns we ride against 
when in the saddle.” 

“If the cowboy isn’t vain, I’d like to know 
what you call it. If he doesn’t care for style, 
please tell me what you — why, Jack, look at 
your fancy bridles and your fantastic saddles, 
and you dare to say that women are vain!” 


326 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Clara, I do believe you’ve become a civilized 
citizen! Born in the cow-country an’ you call 
this ‘style’?” laughed Jack. 

“I hope you don’t think me proud and vain,” 
said Daisy. “You see, I saw this dress in town 
and when the ghost* walked, I bought it. 
When one dresses, one might as well spare no 
expense to get the best. I say, Miss Morris, 
do you think two little curls would set my fore- 
head off to better advantage ?” Then she invited 
Clara Morris to go and see the new purchases, 
and the girls left Jack alone. 

Presently a light step sounded outside and 
Jack’s bronzed face flushed with pleased sur- 
prise as May Maxwell entered. 

“May,” he cried impetuously stepping quickly 
to her side with all the old love-light in his eyes. 
“I don’t have to give you up after all!” 

“And you’ll never leave me again?” she asked 
softly as his arms enfolded her. 

“Never — if you’ll let me stay.” 

“Let you stay? Ah, Jack, I couldn’t let you 

go.” 

“As long as Ed was here I’d a-stuck by my 
bargain — but he’s left the ranch — ” 


Pay day. 


TEE LAST OF CAEN RIDES CLAN 263 


always someone to stand up, unafraid, for the 
right. The courage of Jack Morris to back his 
ideal served to arouse respect for law and order. 
Thus, an old cattleman stepped up to Green and 
said, “I’ve knowed Jack Morris fer a good spell 
an 5 he’s all wool.” There was a short silence, 
and then a cheer burst forth from the inner ring 
of the circle. The old cattleman continued, 
“If thar’s ’nother man in this here part of the 
United States of Ameriky who’s done more fore 
elevatin’ society, I’d like some feller to mention 
him right now.” 

“Thet’s all right,” said Green. “But, didn’t 
these here critters kill some of us this very day? 
Why not hang ’em up at once an’ be done with 
it? That’s whut.” 

“ ’Cause we ain’t the cou’t, gentlemen,” re- 
plied the old cattleman. “Let the law deal with 
’em. Fer one, I’m plumb ashamed of this thing, 
an’ I heartily endorse Jack Morris’s sentiments. 
If his reputation ain’t of any value to us, then 
he orter, as he’s threatened, to give up his 
services. 

“But, on t’other han’, if we do value his serv- 
ices, we’ll beg him to continue his good work. 
Apache Kidd is at large, an’ whoever has landed 
him yet, but Jack?” 


328 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


off our engagement, ’cause I lost a game of cards, 
May, there was sense in my foolishness. Now 
it’s turned out all right, kin you savvy? I 
don’t think you’ll — ever fin’ a man who loves 
you more’n I do!” 

“Jack, and you won’t find a woman who loves 
you more than I do.” 

“You’ll merry an’ old fool like me?” 

“If you’ll promise me you’ll never play poker 
over me again.” 

“I promise; but the nex’ feller that interferes 
with us — ” 

They heard Hank singing “Sweet Betsy 
Ann” as he came toward the room from the 
kitchen. 

“He mustn’t see us thus,” said May, disengag- 
ing herself. She hurried to the table, sat down 
and picked up Jack’s pencil. Hank entered, 
singing his song. Jack motioned him to go to 
the window at the back of the room. 

“Hank,” said Jack in a very low tone, when 
he had joined him, “want to sell that ring?” 

“Wall — who wants to buy it?” 

“Me. What’ll you sell it fer?” 

“Paid eighty-five dollars fer it.” 

“Whew! Cost most as much as a saddle.” 


THE LOSER WINS 


329 


“You bet! Wished I didn’t have it.” 

“I’ll give you sixty fer it.” 

“Fork over an’ you kin have the durn thing.” 

Jack paid him, and said: “Hank, I left my 
bronc’ outside the door, will you put him up?” 

“Shore,” Hank replied, walking toward the 
door. 

Jack came to May from behind, leaned over 
her shoulder and said: “Here’s somethin’ fer 
you, sweetheart.” 

“A ring!” she exclaimed, “Oh, how lovely! 
For me?” 

“Shore; if you’ll wear it.” 

“I’ll wear it, as I wear you, next my heart!” 

The lovers spent a blissful hour planning 
for the future. After a short silence Jack said, 
“Yore father said he wanted me to merry you.” 

“Then he doesn’t object?” 

“No. An’ he wants me to merry you to 
save you from the stage. He thinks it’ll throw 
you in bad company.” 

“I cannot make father understand.” 

“No, he can’t savvy. He doesn’t seem to care 
to have you write plays.” 

“Well,” May sighed, “I suppose I shall have 
to give up writing. But, Jack, it is very hard. 


266 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


ground, tranquility reigned, except for the low 
mutterings of the wounded, and the mournful 
moans of the coyotes, scenting fresh spilled 
blood! 

Jack Morris and Harry Western, exhausted 
as they were, valiantly attended the wounded, 
doing all in their power to relieve the suffering 
of both man and beast. Even after daybreak 
they remained faithfully at their post. Finally, 
the old cattleman insisted that they “turn in” 
and leave it to some of the slightly refreshed 
men. Thus, while Jack and Harry slept, prep- 
arations methodically continued. 

Upon awakening Jack stiffly arose and gazed 
around the adobe — it was occupied now by the 
wounded who were carried in for shelter from the 
sun’s burning rays. Several men moved about, 
attending them. But the five prisoners were 
not there. Jack involuntarily rubbed his eyes 
and silently stared. What did it all mean? 
Were they taken out and lynched ? The thought 
of the possibility caused the blood to grow hot 
within his veins and he reviled himself for being 
so weak as to allow such trickery. Therefore 
without making inquiry, he pushed irritably 
past the attendants and went out. Men moved 


THE LAST OF CAP' N KIDD'S CLAN 267 


about with quiet dignity; a few groups squatted 
peaceably on the hot sand, playing cards as 
sociably as if in the grandest drawing room; 
others were stripping their dead horses of their 
saddles and accoutrements, while overhead 
lazily sailed hideous buzzards. Jack leaned 
against the door- jamb in deep study. He was 
aroused by the voice of Green: “Wall, 55 the 
speaker continued as Jack silently contem- 
plated him; “yore friends was taken to town.” 

“The bandits?” Jack asked, with increasing 
interest. 

“Shore. The o 1’ cattleman took ’em to the 
sher’ff. He’s also gone fer hosses fer us an’ 
vehicles fer the wounded. If he’ll unly git a 
rustle on him mebbe thar won’t be a full house 
at the trial.” 

“Of course,” affirmed Jack, “we’ll be thar to 
see that they git the fulles’ extent of the law.” 

“Wall, I reckon!” exclaimed Green. “Moses 
an’ all the prophets won’t hoi’ a candle to us — 
not by a dern sight.” 

As Jack and Harry were preparing their 
meager breakfast, the latter smiled and said, 
“Reckon the Colonel’s daughter will pat you on 
the back.” 


332 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


winder pane I’d bring ‘ol’ Johnson’ to bear 
on’t.” 

At this juncture Betsy entered the room, fol- 
lowed by the Colonel to whom Hank hastily 
explained the situation. 

“ Sh!” Hank exclaimed, “did you hear a 
noise?” Hank’s revolver was pointing at Betsy. 

“Hank!” she said, “put your ‘gun’ down.” 

“I thought you be a robber!” 

“Me a robber! Have a kere, Hank. I’ll not 
have anyone even think I’m a robber.” 

“ Sh!” said Hank, looking toward the window, 
“did you hear a noise?” 

“You’ll hear a noise if you don’t beg my 
pardon.” 

“Fer what?” 

“Fer thinkin’ I’m a thief.” 

“I don’t never beg fer nothin’; always earnt 
my bread.” 

“You beg my pardon.” 

“I’m awfully sorry you wam’t a robber.” 

“Hank! have a kere.” 

“I wanted to try ‘ol’ Johnson’ on you. By 
gum! you’re a thief, anyhow.” 

“Never stol’ nothin’ in my natural life.” 

“You stole my heart, gosh durn it! You 
smuggled it!” 


7 THOUGHT PD KILLED YOU ,} 333 


“I never gave you any encouragement.” 

“Jus* like a thief! He don’t never give any- 
budy encouragement, but always steals on the 
sly. When caught he’s got to pay fer it — 
Betsy, won’t you be my ol’ woman? I loves 
you more’n anythin’ a-goin’!” 

“Prove it.” 

“Betsy!” he exclaimed, about to throw his 
arms around her. 

“No,” she said, stepping back, “I wants better 
proof than that. Jacob served seven years fer 
Rachel an’ they seemed but days ’is love was 
so great fer her. 

“If that rule held good today, there’d be less 
divorces.” 

“Betsy, beware of false doctrines an’ pretenses, 
fer they be snares which’ll ensnare you.” 

“You leave me alone fer seven years an’ if I 
ain’t merried then, I’ll be your wife.” 

“Seven years — seven years — seven years — 
seventy-seven years — seven hundred seventy- 
seven years — aw, Betsy! yore cheeks are like a 
blushin’ peach, oh! fer jes’ one big, juicy bite!” 

“Hank, you’re incorruptible!” she exclaimed. 

“Gosh! whar be that gol durn dictionary? 
Sh! I shore heard a noise.” He crept to the 


370 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


whars till night, an’ while we demoralized his 
famous clan, unmolested, he vamosed the de- 
serted town.” 

After a short silence, Harry said, “Thar’s 
one thing I’ve- be’n a-tryin’ to figger out: What 
has become of Mrs. Brosseau?” 

“I’ve be’n thinkin’ of that, too. Say! do you 
reckon they’re in the cave?” With sudden 
inspiration Jack walked quickly into the adobe, 
approached a bunk, pulled off the blankets and 
carefully examined the bottom. Discovering 
nothing material he likewise searched the next, 
and the next. Then he bent closer with an 
exultant exclamation. “Look, Kid!” he added. 
Pulling up a loose board forming part of the 
bunk bottom, he peered through. Excitedly 
he pulled out three more loose boards, and there, 
in the floor, was disclosed a trap door! 

The attendants gathered around. “Git a 
few fellers to help,” Jack ordered. “Thar’s 
liable to be rats below!” He cautiously raised 
the covering. “Hey you, down thar!” he called. 
“Come up!” There was no response. “In 
three minutes we’ll burn you out!” Still no 
answer. As Jack gave instructions for “the 
smoker”, a muffled voice below was heard 


THE LAST OF CAP'N KIDD'S CLAN 271 


“Hello, down thar!” Again the voice sounded. 
“It’s a female — reckon it’s Mrs. Brosseau! 
Hello, Mrs. Brosseau! Anybody else down thar 
with you?” 

“No, Monsieur Sheriff,” Mrs. Brosseau replied. 

Before anyone could interfere Harry Western 
sprang recklessly down the ladder. “Kid! Kid!” 
called Jack. “Come back. Kid, it might be a 
trick!” However, Harry landed safely. Quickly 
the others scrambled after him. Mrs. Brosseau 
was helped to the room above. 

“Mos’ of the gang’s paraphernalia’s here,” 
said Harry, surveying the underground room. 
“Gee, they shore had a good stock of grub! 
An’ them bags look like gold mines to me!” 

“Thar’s enough yaller boys to pay back the 
Colonel’s loss, I reckon!” Jack jubilantly ex- 
claimed. And they continued the search. 

At once the news spread around camp, 
inducing great excitement, and the entrance 
was jammed with curious plainsmen. 

“Hey, Jack,” called one, “the Colonel an’ 
his darter is here an’ wants to see you. 
They’re a-comin’ down.” 

Jack met them at the bottom of the rough 
ladder. 


336 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I’m a-goin’ out an’ you kin choose atween 
shootin’ me an’ gittin’ lynched fer it, or you 
kin—” 

There sounded the tramp of many feet out- 
side and fierce cries of — “Lynch him! Lynch 
him!” 

Hank ran to the window and poked his head 
out. 

“Thar’ must be no lynchin’ down here!” de- 
clared the Colonel. 

He threw open the door. Jack dragged in 
the renegade, followed by Harry and Ed Max- 
well, who quickly closed the door and barred it. 

There was a loud yell: “Lynch Cap’n Kidd! 
Lynch Cap’n Kidd!” 

“Hey, you fellers min* yore own business!” 
Hank called out the window. 

“We want Apache Kidd!” they shouted. 
“Lynch the Kidd!” 

“You kain’t have him!” Hank returned. 

“Kain’t we?” Green, the leader, replied hotly. 
“We’re a-goin’ to lynch him an’ you’d better 
give him up.” 

There was a rush against the door. 

“Take him into the kitchen,” said the Colonel. 
“I’ll meet ’em!” 


“1 THOUGHT VD KILLED YOU” ZZ7] 

All left the room but Ed Maxwell and the 
Colonel. Ed opened the door and the men came 
crowding into the room. 

What do you want?” Ed Maxwell demanded. 

“We want the Kidd!” said Green. “We’re 
a-goin’ to swing him!” 

“You are not!” contradicted the Colonel. 
“I’m goin’ to give him up to the sheriff.” 

“Look yere, Colonel,” said Green, “we don’t 
want to make no trouble; all we want is the 
Kidd! an’ we’re a-goin’ to have him! We’re 
the law on this range fer murderers!” 

“He ain’t here,” answered the Colonel. 

“We’ll fin’ him!” 

The Colonel drew a pocket revolver. “Green,” 
he said, “come back.” 

“A-look here, Colonel!” Green hotly replied, 
“no man kin pull on me an’ live! If you’re 
a-lookin’ fer trouble you kin fin’ it right here!” 

“I’ve had enough ‘gun-work’ in my days,” 
said the Colonel, “an’ I don’t want no more. 
Boys, kain’t you give the Kidd fair play?’ 

“That feller’s got to hang,” Green said. 

“Yes,” the Colonel said, “if he’s a murderer, 
he’s got to swing! But let the law take care of 
him.” 


274 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Well, I’ll be gosh durned!” Hank exclaimed, 
with uprising jealousy. How differently she 
always treated Jack. 

“Supper perty near ready, Betsy?” Jack 
asked. “I’m hungry as a flea!” 

“That’s why I was scoldin’ Hank,” she re- 
plied. “It takes him all night to git a bucket of 
water.” 

“Git us some good supper, Betsy,” said Jack, 
“ ’cause it’s the last square meal we’ll have fer 
a month to come.” 

About twenty of the boys entered the barn- 
yard, and most of them went directly to the 
pump. Jack walked toward the stable. 

“Say, fellers,” said Green, “this yere Jack 
Morris a-lords it over us, jus’ ’cause he saved 
the Colonel’s darter, whilst us poor devils must 
do all the dirty work! Jack’s got a cinch on us 
an’ we’ve got to do what he says!” 

“This ain’t the only ranch,” said Hank, “an’ 
if youse fellers don’t like the boss, thar’s no law 
as fer as I kin see, to make you stay here.” 

“Listen to the ol’ woman talkin’,” said Green 
sarcastically. 

“When you come on this ranch,” said Hank, 
“we didn’t ask no questions; but don’t think 


WHY MARRY A RICH DUCKt' 


275 


’cause you’ve worked here a leetle while, you 
own the hull outfit.” 

4 ‘Soak ’m! Go fer ’m, Hank! Knock the 
win’ out of ’m! Hank, soak ’im!” the crowd 
yelled, vociferously. 

“Aw, soak yore foot!” Hank taunted, and he 
went into the house. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” the boys laughed. 

“What’s the matter with the oP woman?” 
Bill asked. 

“He’s all right!” they replied. 

“Who’s all right?” 

“The oP woman!” 

Hank poked his head out of the window. 
“What’s the matter with youse fellers? All 
gone crazy? You think you’re a-goin’ to make 
a fool out of me, don’t you? The hull push of 
you are cock-roaches!” 

“Say, Hank,” jeered Green, “what was yore 
maiden name in Kansas?” 

“It’s none of yore darn business!” 

“Listen at the ol’ woman ravin’,” said Green, 
“like some ol’ Greaser.” 

“By gum, Green,” Hank exclaimed, “a 
greaser is a d — n coward, an’ so’re you.” 

Green drew his six-shooter. 


340 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


He led the way and they followed him out. 

“We must git Cap’n Kidd away in a hurry,” 
said Ed Maxwell. “The boys’ll go to town, git 
filled up on whiskey an’ come back to lynch 
him.” He walked to the kitchen door and 
opened it. “They’re gone, but we had a hard 
time keepin’ ’em from doin’ mischief.” 

“Gosh, Colonel!” said Hank, entering the 
dining-room; “I come perty near shootin’ *ol’ 
Johnson’ through the keyhole. Thought we 
wuz goin’ to have a nasty fight; them fellers 
were so dug-gun huffy!” 

“Yes, an’ they’ll come rippin’ back pretty 
soon an’ want to hang the Kidd. They’ll 
git heated up with whiskey, an’ you might’s 
well talk to a red-hot stove as try to reason with 
’em when they’ve drunk their full gauge,” 
warned the Colonel. “Bring the Kidd here.” 

The others entered with Cap’n Kidd. The 
outlaw was shaven and wore only a moustache, 
and he looked the picture of crafty Hudson, the 
Colonel had known so many years before! 

“My God!” the Colonel exclaimed, stepping 
back. “A ghost! Who’re you?” he demanded. 

The outlaw grinned triumphantly, “Apache 
Kidd, at yore pleasure!” he bowed mockingly. 


I THOUGHT FD KILLED YOU” 341 


The others involuntarily caught their breath. 
There stood the notorious Captain Kidd, that 
clever actor of the frontier, composed and cool 
as could be, scornfully contemplating his captors. 

“Hudson !” gasped Colonel Pierre Maxwell, 
“I thought I’d killed you!” 

“Not that time, Pierre Maxwell!” sardonically 
smiled the renegade. 

“Then ’twas you who killed my son an* 
wife?” demanded the Colonel. 

“Killin’ you would’ve be’n pore revenge, so 
I stole yore son an’ wife an’ let you live a livin’ 
death! I was a-goin’ to let you suffer as long 
is you would, then I was a-goin’ to kill you!” 
declared Hudson, alias Cap’n Kidd. 

“You stole my wife an’ son. Are they livin’ ?’* 

“Yore wife died long ago in 01’ Mexico; but 
her two children are livin’.” 

“Two?” 

“Shore; you’re the father of a boy an’ I’m 
the father of a girl.” 

“You scoundrel! I’ll have you lynched!” 

“ Excuse me, but let me tell you somethin’ 
afore I die. Pierre Maxwell, I’ve had my 
revenge an’ ’twas sweet — sweet! You married 
Annie Bartlett an’ you have paid dearly fer 
it! If you’ll promise me to take care of yore 


278 A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 

“Be’n out riding?” he smiled. 

“I have been exercising my ‘inspiration" 
again, as well as my physical powers.’" 

“Fall in any more quicksand holes ? Any- 
body who gits such an inspiration as to forgit 
where she’s a-goin" needs a guard to ride with 
her to always be ready to give assistance.” 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t get anyone to accept 
the job.” 

“Couldn’t you? I’m lookin’ fer such a job.” 

“You? I thought you were ‘drive boss’ ? ” 

“I am; but I’d rather stay here.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“Oh — grub’s better. Hank an’ I have made 
a bargain; ‘If I git Betsy to merry me, he gits 
her; if he gits her to merry ’im, I gits her’.” 

“My! Think of the opportunity for rivalry. 
Who will woo the harder? But won’t you come 
over to the house for supper. Jack?” May 
invited. “Now don’t make excuses but come 
along.” 

“But, you see — ” 

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you say that you 
don’t want to come?” 

“Oh, but I do!” 

“We’ll be late if you don’t hurry.'* 


“I THOUGHT I’D KILLED YOU” 343 

drew back his hand to hit the foul perpetrator in 
the face, or to clutch the unprotected throat! 

“Colonel,” interposed Jack, catching the 
trembling arm. “Don’t touch him: his arms 
are tied.” 

The Colonel glared back to find out who 
resisted him. And his eyes softened when he 
saw. “Edward, my boy, my boy!” he sobbed, 
embracing Jack. “I knew it — knew it! Thar 
was something in yore eyes — ” 

Suddenly the swish of a hide rope cut the air! 
All eyes involuntarily saw the deadly noose 
settle over Captain Kidd’s head, and they heard 
the sharp cry of pain as he was jerked from his 
feet and dragged by the neck through the door- 
way, where the other end of the rope was slipped 
over the horn of the saddle on a swift broncho. 
Under the sting of the quirt and the spurs the 
broncho leaped forward and Captain Kidd was 
dragged over the ground at a gallop, wrenching 
and racking his body till it felt as if consumed 
with fire! Mounted cowboys spurred after 
the dangling object, half hidden in the dust! 
No human being could live long under such 
circumstances, and Captain Kidd’s end was 
terrible and all too well executed! There would 
be no sitting of the court for his trial. 


Chapter XXV 


“I Give Her Back to You” 

“Wall,” thought Hank, looking out the win- 
dow, “I s’pose I’m in fer it now. Guess I 
better make tracks for Arizona; I helped to 
rope Apache Kidd an’ mebbe the sheriff will 
want to know the reason why. Mebbe he 
couldn’t savvy jus’ why I done it an’ he’d 
‘pack’ me off to jail. Gosh! I’d ruther leave 
Betsy Ann behin’ than spen’ a whole night in a 
plumb misery jail! Oh, wall, when I come 
back after seven years they’ll fergit all ’bout it 
an’ Betsy’ll merry me. Seven years is a durn 
long time to wait fer a gal to merry you; but if 
it’s got to be, it’s got to be!” 

“Say, Hank,” said Red Nose Bill, staggering 
away, “is it mornin’, yet?” 

“Mornin’?” repeated Hank. “Wall, Bill, if 
you don’t put that whiskey bottle ’way, the 
Colonel’ll make you think it’s mornin’. You’ll 
be mournin’, all right. Good thing fer you the 
ghost don’t walk every day. You’d spen’ yore 
las’ dollar fer whiskey.” 


1 GIVE HER BACK TO YOU ’ 


345 


“Say, Hank, ef you was me an’ I was you — 
hie! — what would you be?” 

“I’d be a durn fool, an’ you’d be a respectable 
citizen!” 

May had written some little verses for Bill 
and they now came to him and he drawled them 
out with drunken accent and confusion: 

“ ‘I leaned agains’ a lamp-post col’, jes’ 
as the east began to break — my hat was gone, my 
clothes were torn and some other feller had my 
stake. My nose was red; my sense had fled; 
I feared the family breakfast call; my eyes felt 
like ten tons of lead; my legs felt like no legs at 
all. Here I was stranded at the break of day, 
my money gone, no clothes to pawn; my home 
was many miles away. My ‘good time’ was 
o’er, the devil to pay! Across the street I 
spied a post — the only friend one has when all 
’is money’s gone an’ he has drunk the toast of 
everyone he knows around — across the street 
I spied the post an’ started ’cross to greet my 
friend; but the earth went ’roun’ so fast I 
staggered, reeled, to fall at last! I struggled 
up to fall ag’in. They say, ‘Pride goes 
afore a fall.’ Who could accuse me bein’ 
proud, when I so humbly bit the dust? At 


346 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


las’ I hugged the ol’ lamp-post an’ smiled to 
think I got there safe; but to my horror an’ 
dismay, I saw the sheriff cornin’ straight my way. 
Grinned pleasant as I could at ’im an’ tried to 
be the bes’ of friends. He looked like a rain- 
storm at night an’ I tol’ ’im he was all right. 
I stood on the door-step at morn, a sorry and 
disgusted wreck, afraid to meet my wife an’ 
babes: their lovin’ arms shamed more than 
blamed. I could not fin’ the key-hole an’ was 
’bout to leave the house, when my wife opened 
the front door an’ said with tear-stained eyes: 
‘The baby’s dead!’ ” 

Just then May and Clara entered the room. 
“Oh, Billy, Billy,” said May reproachfully, “what 
have you in your hand? Will you never learn 
to conquer that evil habit?” 

“You see, Miss,” said Bill shamefacedly, 
“I’m like the Irishman who was loadin’ stumps 
onto a sled on a steep hill. One of the stumps 
got ’way, rolled down the hill, but Pat held on! 
‘Stay with it!’ Mike yelled, as Pat and the stump 
rolled down the hill together, Pat holdin’ on 
the stump fer dear life. Mike scrambled down 
to see what was left of Pat. But Pat was not 
entirely licked! ‘Begorrah!’ says he, T 


“7 GIVE HER BACK TO YOU” 347 

top half the time!’ That’s what I am, Miss — 
on top half the time!” 

“But, Billy, you’ll be ‘on top’ all the time, 
won’t you?” May asked. 

“I wants to be. Miss, I shorely do!” 

The Colonel, Ed, Jack, Harry and Betsy 
entered the room in a body. 

“Hank,” said the Colonel, “did you see who 
dragged Cap’n Kidd out?” 

“Gosh! Colonel, I don’t think I did. When 
I git to thinkin’ my memory goes see-saw. 
First it ’members it saw, then it ’members it 
didn’t see. Now, it’s sawin’ both ways to onct. 
The harder I think the more I saw. To tell 
the truth, guess I saw nothin’!” 

“Those fellers will have to pay fer this night’s 
work,” said the Colonel; “they’ll have to answer 
fer it to the law!” 

“The law be durned!” Hank exclaimed. 
“Poor ‘ol’ Johnson’, perty soon I’ll be carryin’ 
you ’roun’ in one han’ ’an a law-book in t’other!” 

“The boys meant all right,” said Jack,* 
“they’re bound to put a stop to crime on this 
range. They got the right feller this time, an’ 

* Although the Colonel’s real son, Edward Maxwell, was found, 
he was still called “Jack” by everyone. 


348 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS' 


I’ll bet, if you did find out who done it, the jury 
would let the boys off.” 

“Well,” said the Colonel, “guess they made 
no mistake an’ we had better let the matter 
drop.” 

“Shore, Colonel,” said Hank, “that’s the best 
way. You wanted to give that bandit fair 
play; now do the same with the boys. If the 
sheriff asks what you done with him, tell him 
we were a-takin’ him to town an’ somehow the 
durn critter got ’way from us.” 

“We ought to have let the law settle with him,” 
said the Colonel. 

“Do you really think that they will go so far 
as to kill him?” Clara asked. 

“Wall,” said Hank, “when a feller’s be’n 
drug over the ground with a rope ’roun’ ’is 
neck fer a mile or two, he’s generally perty sick; 
but if he ain’t, he shore is a tough buck an’ has 
got a graft on life!” 

“It’s the range law,” said Ed. 

“But,” said the Colonel, “the range is chang- 
in’.” 

“Yes,” Hank sighed, “poor ‘ol’ Johnson’!” 
Hank seemed to be greatly moved by the 
Colonel’s remark. He took the weapon from its 


"1 GIVE HER BACK TO YOU” 249 


holster, laid it in the palm of his right hand and 
looked at it fondly. “Poor ‘old Johnson’ !” 

“Say — Hank,” said Jack, “want to buy a 
ring?” 

“H’m — what do I want a ring fer?” 

“Oh, I thought you might be able to use one.” 

“I got to wait seven years fer Betsy.” 

“Hank!” Betsy snapped, “you needn’t go 
blabberin’ it to ever’budy!” 

“She thinks ’cause Jacob waited seven years 
fer his gal, I’m a-goin’ to wait that long fer her,” 
Hank explained. 

“Betsy,” said Jack, taking the ring from May’s 
finger and holding it so the diamond sparkled 
brilliantly in the light, “if Hank should give you 
a ring like this, wouldn’t you fergit ’bout the 
seven years?” 

“Let me see it,” she said, beginning to be 
tempted. Jack handed the ring to her and she 
put it on. 

“It’s a beaut!” Hank said proudly. 

“What do you know about rings?” Betsy 
asked disdainfully. 

“Wall, I know a heap more ’bout rings than 
you think I do! I hain’t such a greenie as you 
think I be. I bought that ring fer you, but you 


350 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


went spoonin’ with another feller an’ I sol’ it to 
Jack.” 

“To Jack?” May asked. 

“Shore; an’ it’s a genuine stun; paid mos’ 
a hundred dollars fer it.” 

“Then, Hank,” said Betsy, “you’d better 
buy it back in a hurry!” 

“By gum! you in earnes’?” He thrust the 
gold into Jack’s hand before he could object, 
and drew Betsy out. 

“Well,” said the astonished Jack, “if that 
don’t beat the old Harry!” 

“Now what am I going to do for a ring?” 
May asked. 

“May,” said Jack, “ you kin never wear my 
engagement ring ag’in.” 

“What do you mean, Jack?” she asked in 
blank astonishment. 

“I mean just this” — Jack said, with deep 
emotion, “it isn’t legal to merry yore sister, is it?” 

“Why — you don’t mean — Jack, you don’t 
mean that you are my lost brother?” May asked. 

“Shore, an’ thar’s yore sister,” Jack replied, 
pointing to Clara. 

“Clara,” the Colonel said, putting his arms 
around her, “yore mother was the best woman 
I ever knew.” 


I GIVE HER BACK TO YOU’ 


351 


“Jack and I were just talking of our childhood 
days this evening,” said Clara. 

“Can you remember anythin’?” inquired the 
Colonel. 

“Very little. We could never see our mother 
alone, and I remember very little about her. 
She always looked so feeble and very seldom left 
her room, except in the company of a man we 
called our father. No one was allowed to see 
her when he was not there.” 

“He was not your fa — her husband, but a 
scoundrel who stol’ my wife an’ my children 
from me!” the Colonel equivocated. In one 
sense be had spoken the truth, though in fact 
he had deceived Clara because he desired to keep 
the unhappy unions a secret. 

After a short silence, Clara continued. 

“After she died we think the authorities got 
after him and he ran away, leaving Jack and 
me to shift for ourselves as best we could.” 

“That’s the 'snake in the grass’ the boys have 
jus’ lynched, an’ damme me! I’m glad they’ve 
done it! He’s made me suffer; he’s had his 
revenge — I’m glad they’ve done it! We used 
to do it — lynchin’ ain’t any too bad fer such a 
scoundrel!” 


852 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Why did he tell you his secret?” Clara asked, 
after a pause. 

“Why? Because he knew thar was no hope 
fer him an’ he wanted to bleed an oP wound. 
He wanted me to know how he had fooled me! 
I thought he was dead, an’ he comes afore me 
like a ghost an’ tells me what a failure the oP 
law of the range was: the six-shooter, which I 
took into my own han’s, an 5 instead of lettin’ 
the law settle it, I tried to, myself! The oP 
days have passed ’way an’ now we shall be law- 
’bidin’ citizens. We’re on the turn. From now 
on I shall prohibit the wearing of a gun on the 
home ranch.” 

“Colonel,” protested Jack and Ed. 

“On the round-up, it’s necessary,” the Colonel 
continued, “but on this ranch it mus’ be put 
’way!” 

“I’d rather walk behin’ the plow than give 
up my 'gun’!” said Jack. “Colonel, give me 
charge of the Cimarron ranch; thar’s range — 
thar’s freedom!” 

“You’ve got the spirit of yore father,” the 
Colonel said; “but we’re in the iron grip of the 
law! Now, that the law’s a-comin’ we’ve got to 
obey it.” 


“I GIVE HER BACK TO YOU 9 


353 


“If that law crowds us too hard,” Ed ex- 
claimed, “then, to the devil with the law!” 

“S’pose that every citizen of the United States 
carried a ‘gun* ’an used it to settle little dis- 
putes?” the Colonel asked. “Em glad to see the 
passing of the six-shooter!” 

“Most of the killin’s done by fellers who are 
drunk,” said Jack, “an’ yet this very same law 
lets whiskey be sold by the barrel! The law 
won’t let us lynch a ‘bad man’; but it allows 
a c law-’bidin’ citizen’, who pays it good taxes, 
to kill us with drink!” 

The Colonel cleared his throat. There was 
much weight to Jack’s argument, and the Colonel 
was at a loss what to reply. 

“This place is gittin’ too crowded fer me,” 
said Ed, “the law’s pressin’ us too close!” 

“Wall,” said the Colonel, “I s’pose tomorrow 
they’ll fin’ that feller hangin’ to some pole an’ 
the sheriff’ll come rippin’ over an’ want to know 
who done it.” 

“I’m glad the boys saved me the trouble of 
lynchin’ that scoundrel,” said Jack. “I’d shorely 
have killed him!” 

“Jack,” said the Colonel, “I’m afraid I 
have a lawless son!” 


354 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“You shorely have, Colonel,” Jack smiled; 
“what do you think of a feller failin’ in love with 
his own sister?” 

“I hardly know what to think of him,” smiled 
the Colonel. 

“That was a lucky escape! I s’pose this new- 
fangled law would’ve put me in jail!” 

“Just think of it,” May sighed, “a twice- 
broken engagement.” 

“It was my fault the first time,” said Ed. 

“Ed,” said May, “I ask your pardon for 
speaking so hotly to you.” 

“You said only what was right.” 

“No, I spoke too harshly. But I couldn’t 
give Jack up just because he lost a toss-up.” 

“Ed was leavin’ the ranch,” said Jack, “so 
we could git merried.” 

“What! what!” said the Colonel. 

“It was the only way out of it,” said Ed. 

“He wanted to give me a square deal,” ex- 
plained Jack. 

“Ed,” said the Colonel, “you were goin — 
away an’ would not tell me?” 

“I couldn’t,” said Ed. “I wouldn’t be here 
now, if it warn’t fer Cap’n Kidd. The boys 
tol’ me an’ I returned to see what I could do.” 


“I GIVE HER BACK TO YOU” 355 

“I’m glad they done it,” said Jack. “Ed, 
we kin be thankful fer one thing: he’s brought 
you back to us — an’ to May.” 

“To May!” Ed exclaimed in a dazed way, as 
if he could not quite understand. 

“Shore,” said Jack, “she can’t merry her 
brother, kin she?” 

“No,” Ed replied slowly. 

“Well, if she can’t merry me, what’s the matter 
with me merryin’ — I mean, let me fix it up a- 
tween you.” 

“Fix what up?” 

“Why — ain’t you a-goin’ to merry her?” 

“Ask her to merry me?” 

“Shore. If you won’t ask her, I will.” 

“I ain’t fit fer her.” 

“Come, Clara,” said the Colonel, “let’s go 
over to the house. Harry, I wish you would 
ride over to town an’ tell the sheriff ’bout 
Cap’n Kidd.” 

“All right, Colonel,” Harry replied. 

“Don’t be too hard on the boys.” 

“I won’t. You know we all were so excited 
when you found yore lost son that we didn’t 
see who pulled the Cap’n out.” 

“Now,” said Jack, as the others left the room, 


356 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ I’ve got you two corralled; you might buck a 
little at first when I put the saddle on you — so 
does the bronc’; but it only shows he’s feelin’ 
good. I’m not much at match-makin’ — Hank 
will tell you that! I always pulls the cinches 
perty tight when I puts on my saddle, so it 
won’t slip, an’ I’m a-goin’ to do the same with 
you two.” He placed May’s hand in Ed’s. 
“Ed, I lost her onct to you by gamblin’; you 
gave her back to me. Then I lost her by law; 
an’ now I give her back to you. She wouldn’t 
stan’ fer our bargain an’ you showed yoreself 
a white man, when you wouldn’t come atween 
us. I’m shore May kin savvy you even better 
than I do. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go over 
an’ see how things are gittin’ along.” 

They watched him disappear through the 
door. Ed turned to her and said, “Kin you 
forgive me. May?” 

“With all my heart!” she smiled, through the 
tears in her eyes, shining now with happiness. 

“May,” said Ed, “I’m only a rough plainsman, 
mebbe I’ve done wrong; but I love you, May, 
love you dearer than life! You will very soon 
tame me. You will be my example, my idol, 
my adviser, my companion an’ wife. Nothing 


“7 GIVE HER BACK TO YOU } 


357 


kin part us, but death. When the gray hairs 
come, an’ we’re called away, the people will 
point at the tombstone an’ say, ‘May Maxwell 
accomplished her work an’ made him an angel.’ ” 

She raised her lips to his, and he kissed 
her humbly and fondly. Then he tried to 
say something fitting for the solemn occasion; 
but not anything sacred enough could he utter. 
So, with a joyful pronunciation of her name, he 
drew her closer within his loving embrace. 

What a revelation the day had been! What 
complete changes had a few hours wrought. 
Events had occurred so swiftly and so utterly 
astounding that they simply could not be 
grasped at once. 


Chapter XXVI 


The Coyote of the Desert 

The next day Jack explained the death of 
Captain Kidd to the sheriff. “Yes, sir, 55 added 
he, “Cap’n Kidd fooled us fer years ’bout as 
slick as a kyute fools a dog in a race — grinnin’ 
at us all the while!” After a short silence he 
continued: “The deserts of Arizona ain’t lifeless. 
Thar’s several varieties of cacti. One of ’em 
is a branchin’ kind, an’ its thorns will pierce 
very strong leather. It’s a cruel plant! 

“One afternoon my bronc’ was dodgin’ 
amongst the cacti, when I noticed some buzzards 
hoverin’ an’ circlin’ near the ground. I reined 
over thar, an’ suddenly jerked up my bronc’s 
head! He snorted an’ stared! Hangin’ on a 
cruel cholla cactus plant was a human body — 
dead! 

“I dismounted an’ read a slip of paper that 
was pinned upon its breast, with these words: 
‘This fool tried to trail me. When I caught him 
he was alive. If he is alive when you find him 
he is welcome to live with the compliments of 
Cap’n Kidd.’ 


THE COYOTE OF THE DESERT 359 


“It was a nasty job to free the body from the 
thorns, an’ I grew thirsty. I punctured a saguaro 
cactus with a couple of shots from my six-shooter, 
an’ thar came a flow of water sufficient to quench 
my thirst. That was my first experience with 
that human devil! Just to think I believed him 
to be my own father! 

“It was my ambition to give the Cap’n up 
to justice, but I was fooled. The worst of it is, 
instead of payin’ attention to business, I fell 
in love, an’ a feller in love ain’t no account fer 
anything else! I would have given anything to 
have caught that kyute myself! It ain’t so 
much the reward that I keered fer, but it’s the 
glory. 

“The Colonel, my father, went to Kansas 
when he was a young feller, an’ thar he fell in 
love with a girl by the name of Annie Bartlett. 
They became engaged. A feller by the name 
of Crafty Hudson was in love with the girl, 
too, an’ he hid an’ tried to kill the Colonel. But 
the Colonel fooled him! 

“He left Hudson lyin’ supposedly dead an’ 
went to town to see the sheriff. When they 
came back to the body, it was gone. ‘Some of 
his friends had be’n attracted by the shots an’ 


360 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


kerried him off, 5 says the sheriff. Anyway, they 
got no trace of Hudson, alias Cap’n Kidd, alias 
Apache Kidd. 

“The Colonel merried, an’ the nex’ year I was 
born. Three years later my mother an’ I was 
stolen away from home. The Colonel thought 
we was killed by Hudson’s pals for revenge; 
but he couldn’t locate ’em. The fact is, Hudson 
wasn’t killed by the Colonel, only wounded, 
an’ it was he who kidnapped us to Old Mexico. 
I couldn’t ever see my mother alone. When 
she died, he was thar all the time. Afterwards 
he ran away. 

“I made up my mind to hunt him down. I 
had an idea that he had turned rustler, an’ it 
was trailin’ him that I got on the trail of Cap’n 
Kidd, an’ afterwards found out that him an* 
my supposed father was one person. I sort of 
took pride in it, an* my one ambition was to be 
the one to catch the cleverest of outlaws — the 
kyute of the desert. One doesn’t always 
realize his ambitions. 

“I won’t tell you of Kidd’s crimes an’ foxy 
tricks, but simply how he was finally captured. 
Oh, how much I envied Harry Western when 
he got him!” 


THE COYOTE OF THE DESERT 861 


Jack smoked a while in silence. 

. “Yes sir,” he went on, “Harry Western is 
to be congratulated! You see, Apache Kidd 
kinder felt his time was gittin’ short. 

“In 1866, the Colonel adopted a son, an* re- 
turned with him and May to this ranch. Then 
there came years of cattle-thievin’, an’ we all 
were kept busy on the trail. Perty soon we 
heard of Cap’n Kidd, an’, like me, Harry got 
ambitious to ketch him. But Cap’n Kidd wasn’t 
over-anxious to git caught, an’ so he’s led all of 
us a merry chase. 

“When I learned that Cap’n Kidd was my 
dad, I made up my mind to git him! But I 
nearly fell through the floor when he confessed 
that he was not, an’ told that I was the Colonel’s 
real lost son. 

“I s’pose you’d like to know how they caught 
so cunnin’ a fox, who had fooled everyone fer 
years? Well, I onct heard of a feller who said, 
when another feller said that Cap’n Kidd could’nt 
be caught, ‘Everythin’ an’ everybody’s got 
a weak spot somewhars.’ 

“Yes, sir, everybody makes mistakes. Cap’n 
Kidd made a fatal one in simply choosin’ jus’ 
one man of his gang, an’ that man cooked his 


302 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


goose! If Brosseau hadn’t be’n so loco to rile 
the Colonel in the bank, Cap’n Kidd’s hidin’ 
place would still be secret. But Brosseau lost 
his head an’ gave me a chance to work. 

“So, the Cap’n, seein’ his time was drawin’ 
short, planned to visit my father in private. 
Las’ evenin’ it happened that Red Nose Bill was 
bringin’ home the new cook wagon from town. 
The Cap’n saw a good opportunity to hide in 
it, figgerin’, I reckon, to lay concealed till after 
dark, then sneak up to the house. 

“But Harry Western happened to go over to 
examine the new wagon, an’ he scared the Cap’n 
out. Harry seen the Cap’n slip to the ground 
an’ crawl away an’ he got him! 

“In the excitement, when the Cap’n told us 
that I was the Colonel’s real lost son, somebody 
roped him through the door an’ dragged him 
out!” 

“Served him right!” exclaimed the sheriff. 

“Guess it’s ‘human nature,’ as May says. 
But I would have given anything to’ve be’n in 
Harry’s boots when he caught Cap’n Kidd!” 
Jack remarked presently. 

“Why do you reckon he identified you after 
all you did to him?” asked the sheriff. 


THE COYOTE OF THE DESERT 363 


“I don’t know,” Jack replied. “I shorely 
believe he had a soft spot fer Clara an’ her 
mother, an’ he knew the Colonel would take to 
me, an’ I would see to Clara, I reckon. But 
mind, we’re not to tell Clara that he was her 
real father.” 

Again they smoked in silence. 

“Say,” said the sheriff, “I reckon you all was 
so surprised when you found out you was the 
Colonel’s real lost son, you didn’t see who roped 
Apache Kidd?” 

“It was done so quick — in the excitement 
we didn’t see,” Jack answered, bending over so 
that the sheriff could not see his face, and he 
knocked the ashes from his pipe on his left boot- 
heel. 

“Well, the Cap’n’s cashed in an’ I reckon it’ll 
be hard to find out his executioners,” remarked 
the sheriff. 

“I’m afraid so, sheriff. You’ll have yore 
troubles to find anyone to appear in his defense.” 

“You bet! An’ the Cap’n was shore a Bad 
Man from ‘Way Back!” 

“Say, Jack,” he added, after a pause, “are 
you shore that Red Nose Bill didn’t know that 
the Cap’n wasn’t a-hidin’ in that cook wagon?” 


364 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“It’s hard to prove,” Jack confessed. “But 
Harry made us sit up an’ take notice, didn’t 
he!” 

“He shore did!” exclaimed the sheriff. “But, 
what else could you expect? Wasn’t it nach- 
eral fer the Kid to git the Kidd?” And the 
speaker’s grin broadened. 

“Well,” smiled Jack insinuatingly, “be kere- 
ful that the Kid don’t spell his name now with a 
double ‘d’!” 

“He shore would be a tough customer!” de- 
clared the sheriff. “An’ him so innocent look- 
in’!” But, I’ll bet he won’t cook in this here 
ranch any more.” 

“He’ll be my private secretary from now on. 
An’ when you kain’t trail yore man, sheriff, call 
on Harry Western! We’ll be his under-study! 
He’ll show us a few tricks in pheelosophy!” 

And both men grinned understandingly. 


Chapter XXVII 
The Cowpuncher’s Wedding 

“Thar ain’t nothin’ that kin scare me much,” 
said Hank. “But I guess a feller’s wedding is 
out of the ordinary line,” he added after a short 
pause. 

“ You see, me an’ Betsy had been workin’ 
perty hard gittin’ things ready, an’ the unusual 
strain, I s’pose, made us a leetle unsteady the las’ 
day. 

“Anyhow, I begin to git impatient, an’ mebbe 
a trifle unneighborly toward Betsy. She re- 
sented in the mildest way possible fer a spirited 
woman, an’ I had to blame somebody to re- 
suscitate my unstrung nerves! 

“I kinder felt ticklish all over. I never had no 
experience, standin’ up afore the hull population 
an’ sayin’ things after the preacher. Say, 
what right has he askin’, anyway? Betsy 
warned me to answer him to my best ability. 

“ Tf he gits too personal — !’ says I, droppin’ 
my right han’ on my law-book. 


366 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ ‘Don’t you dare wear yer ‘guns’ at my 
weddin’,’ says Betsy, emphatically, tossin’ her 
head. 

“ ‘What!’ says I. ‘D’you think I’m a-goin’ to 
git merried without my side apparel? No sir! 
I tell you what, Betsy, it takes plenty nerve to 
git merried anyway’. 

“ ‘Nerve!’ she says, scornfully. ‘You haven’t 
any.’ 

“ ‘Is that so?’ I retaliated. ‘Don’t you fool 
yourself! How about yore nerve’? 

“ ‘Well, Mr. Hank, if I didn’t have any more 
nerve than you’ve got, I’d hide my head in a 
gopher-hole!’ 

“Then I got sarcastic: ‘Say,’ I says, narrow- 
ing my eyes to mere slits, ‘you ain’t got no more 
nerve than an old tooth!’ 

“ ‘Think yer smart!’ she snapped, an’ turned 
on her heel. 

“ ‘Now, Betsy, ol’ gal,’ says I, ‘we don’t want 
to fight afore the weddin’. What ’ll it be after- 
wards, if we scrap now?’ 

“ ‘Oh,’ she sighs, ‘I’m tired out. I wish the 
weddin’ was over.’ 

“ ‘So do I,’ says I. ‘Say,’ says I, after a 
thought, ‘what’s the use of waitin’ till this evenin’ 
anyway? Why not git merried right now?’ 


THE COWPUNCHER’S WEDDING 307 


“ ‘You’re gittin’ anxious/ says she. 

“ ‘Anxious nothin’! Only, I don’t see the use 
of puttin’ it off, that’s all.’ 

“ ‘Now who’s got the nerve, Mr. Hank?’ she 
taunts. ‘You kain’t wait; you ’re gittin’ shakey/ 

“ ‘Shakey!’ says I, disgusted. ‘Shakey noth- 
in’! Jus’ feel my pulse/ 

“ ‘No sir!’ says I, after scratchin’ an idee out 
of my head, ‘I weren’t never scairt of a preacher, 
an’ why should I be of this here one?’ 

“ ‘You’d better think of fixin’ up yore togs fer 
the weddin’, than be arguin’ ’bout bein’ scairt, 
Mr. Hank.’ 

“ ‘When you see me standin’ up afore the hull 
Western America, Miss Betsy, in my full dress, 
b’iled shirt, an’ patent leathers, you’ll be the 
proudes’ gal on the plains! You’ll swell up like a 
toad!’ 

“ ‘Huh!’ says she disgustedly. 

“ ‘Is that so?’ says I. ‘Wall, I dunno. 
But you see, ol’ gal, it’s this way: 

“ ‘Sweet Betsy Ann, sweet Betsy Ann, 

Sweet Betsy Ann from Kansas. 

An’ when you drop yer big dark eyes 
My heart jumps high with joy an’ cries — 
Sweet Betsy Ann, sweet Betsy Ann, 

Sweet Betsy Ann, I love you!’ 


368 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ ‘I s’pose you contemplate that being perty,’ 
she sneers. 

“ ‘It beats a jackass, don’t it?’ says I. 

“ ‘Oh, you hunk o’ iron!’ says I, grabbin’ her 
in my arms an’ bestowin’ the usual allowances 
upon her rosy cheeks. ‘You kain’t tease me. 
I know you!’ 

“ ‘You think you do,’ she smiled. 

“ ‘We’re a-goin’ to be happy. Jack promised 
to make me a foreman, an’ we’ll have a shack all 
by ourselves!’ 

“ ‘An’ you promised me a bran’ new — ’ 

“ ‘Bet yer life!’ says I. ‘I’ll buy you a bran’ 
new steel range cook stove with ten holes an’ 
three ovens!’ 

“ ‘An’ a dresser with a big plate glass mirror, 
dear?’ 

“ ‘Two or three, by gosh!’ says I. ‘An’ a 
pianer!’ 

“ ‘An’ lace curtains?’ says she, givin’ me the 
sweetes’ kiss I ever tasted. 

“ ‘Bet yer sweet heart!’ says I. ‘I’ll git a big 
leather rockin’ chair, too.” 

“ ‘An’ a big rug fer the company’s room?’ 

“ ‘Uh-huh,’ says I. ‘Anythin’ you ask.’ 

“ ‘Oh, you ’re so good!’ says she, expressin’ it 


THE COWPUNCHER'S WEDDING 369 


in the customary manner, nacheral fer all women. 

“ ‘Not at all/ says I, pressing her still closter. 
‘I wants to make you happy. Are you?’ 

“ ‘I never knew what happiness was before!’ 

“ ‘Nor I!’ 

“We were awakened from our dream by the 
entrance of Jack. 

“ ‘Oh, don’t min’ me/ says he. ‘Jus’ go 
ahead.’ 

“ ‘I’m mentally refreshed,’ says I, ‘so let’s git 
to work. Betsy has got to see to her boodwar, 
an’ I’ve got to ‘gentle’ my b’iled shirt! Say, 
Jack, if yore presence is to be seen at my weddin’, 
you’ve got to wear a ‘full dress’, an’ don’t you 
fergit it!’ 

“ ‘An’ gentlemen collars, boys/ says Betsy. 

“Jack put his han’s to his neck as if a noose 
was placed thar fer a lynchin’. 

“ ‘An’ boys/ says Betsy, ‘remember, no ‘guns’ 
at the weddin’!’ 

“ ‘Wall/ says I, ‘if that ’s the case, when the 
stiff-backed, goggle-eyed preacher gits to rakin’ 
into my private history, I’ll bust his durned face 
in!’ Well I guess we’d better be gittin’ ready 
fer the matinee. I need time to git fitted to my 
b’iled shirt/ 


370 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ ‘Do I have to wear a ‘hard’ collar, too?’ 
Jack sighed. 

“ ‘Bet yer life! 5 says I. ‘An 5 b’iled cuffs, too! 
I’ve got to wear a stiff hat.’ 

“ ‘You an’ Jack had better be practisin’ puttin’ 
on yer ‘hard’ collars,’ says Betsy. 

“ We followed the idee — that is, we tried to. 
After a few hard tries, Jack managed to git into 
his collar an’ he grins at me. I was sweatin’ like 
a chicken with its head off! That collar was 
enough to try the patience of Job! 

“ I couldn’t stan’ the dug-gun thing on my 
neck any longer, an’ I give it a jerk, ripped it to 
blazes, an’ I said things which I’m ashamed to 
repeat at the present moment! 

“Anyway, I tol’ Betsy I wasn’t goin’ to wear 
a bracelet ’roun’ my throat. She says if I didn’t 
wear a collar an’ look like a groom should, she’d 
not merry me. 

“Well, I finally done it, an’ you ought to’ve 
seen Betsy smile. 

“ ‘You look like a regular man,’ says she, 
giving me a taste of her pleasure full on my 
mouth. 

“ ‘You look jus’ lovely!’ says I, returning the 
affection in like expression. 


THE COWPUNCHER’S WEDDING 371 

“ ‘You’ll have all the gals jealous/ says Betsy, 
eying me with a suspicious glance. 

“ ‘How ’bout the men?’ says I, lookin’ at her 
with unblushin’ idosity. ‘We’ll be the talk of 
the day!’ 

“She says: 

‘Patience is a virtue; 

Possess it if you can. 

’Tis seldom seen in a woman 
But often seen in a man.’ 

“You see, we was to be merried in the eatin’ 
room, as it was the larges’ available space under 
cover, an’ we knowed that we had to accommo- 
date a large percentage of the boys. 

“In the middle of our discussion we heard the 
approach of the first of the audience, an’ I says, 
‘They’re cornin’! Let’s negotiate in this other 
department.’ 

We waited a week, it seemed to me. 

“ ‘Isn’t it about time the preacher showed up?’ 
says Betsy, alarmed. 

“ ‘I f ergot all about the cuss,’ says I. ‘S’pose — 
jus’ s’pose he didn’t show up?’ Betsy looked 
about to wilt. Then I got exasperated at the 
preacher! Says I confidential like, ‘If he dis- 
appoints us, he won’t ever officiate at our weddin’ 
or anybody else’s!’ 


372 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ ‘Hank, you ought to be ashamed of threaten- 
in’ a preacher’s life,’ says Betsy. 

“We was interrupted, an’ therefore I could 
not argue the point. 

“Perty quick the house filled up. In the 
meantime, the preacher was givin’ us our re- 
hearsal. 

“Bimeby, after what seemed ages to me, we 
marched up the trail between the chairs an’ 
benches to the tune of an organ. 

“I felt like a feller runnin’ the gauntlet with 
Injuns standin’ on the sides with thar war clubs, 
— only we didn’t run; we walked! I perty near 
felt like stampedin’ ! 

“Betsy held up her head like a princess — 
no wonder, she was hid behin’ a veil, whilst 
I had to put on a bold face an’ think when to 
put down my feet to the slow organ tune. 

“Wall, the parade finally arrived at its desti- 
nation, an’ the preacher made me an’ Betsy 
stand side by side, facin’ the crowd. 

“He turned his back on ’em, an’ stood afore 
us with a leetle book in his hand. He asked me 
more questions than an ordinary woman. I 
kain’t jus’ remember ’em, but I recollect sayin’ 
‘Yes’ an’ ‘No’. I kinder got rattled! 

“When I took aim an’ tried to put the ring 


THE COWPUNCHER’S WEDDING 373 


on Betsy’s finger, I missed the mark by a mile. 
Then my face turned red like a lobster. The 
sweat begin irrigatin’ my face as I endeavored to 
force the instrument of wedlock over her thumb! 

“ ‘See what you’re doin’, she whispered fran- 
tically. r 

“ ‘You put it on,’ says I, under my breath. 
T’ve lost my reason!’ 

“I heard somebudy snicker in the audience. 
That made me stubborn, an’ I made up my mind 
that I would put that ring on the right finger if 
I had to keep ’em thar the hull night! An’ I 
done it! 

“Then it was all over an’ Betsy was my wife! 

“The preacher grabbed her an’ kissed her 
full on the cheek! Mebbe I didn’t git hot! 

“ ‘Say/ says I, softly, ‘you do that ag’in, 
you prayin’ hypocrite!’ 

“ ‘I won’t let anyone call me that!’ says the 
preacher, shakin’ with wrath all over his out- 
ward surface. 

“ ‘How’re you a-goin’ to help yoreself?’ says 
I. ‘What’re you a-goin’ to do about it?’ 

“Before they could stop us, me an’ the preacher 
went to it in fierce shape. We was rollin’ on the 
floor, bitin’, scratchin’, pullin’ hair, and damagin’ 
each other in general. 


374 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“They finally divorced us an 5 tried to explain. 

“ ‘Now, you’re a perty sight, Mr. Groom,’ 
says Betsy. ‘I’m ashamed of you.’ 

“ ‘What right did you have a-kissin’ that buck- 
toothed preacher!’ says I, growin’ more indignant 
as the catalogue of injuries swelled afore my 
black eyes. ‘What right!’ says I, ‘an’ you a 
merried woman!’ 

“Then someone explained that the preacher 
had a most perfect right to kiss the bride, an’ 
I had to apologize on the spot. 

“The preacher graciously accepted. We 
shook han’s an’ perty soon ‘all went merry as a 
merriage bell.’ 

“Thar’s one thing I want to say in conclusion. 
It’s the only thing fer a man to do — git merried 
as soon as he possibly kin. I don’t believe in 
long engagements. If you are shore that you 
kin git along together without contention, git 
merried at once, an’ don’t put off today what you 
kin do tomorrow! 

“I’m merried now an’ I’m durn glad of it. 
I hope you’ll have harmony like me an’ Betsy 
have.” 

May Maxwell and Ed smiled assuredly. 
They were to be married the following week and, 
of course, thanked Hank for his kindly advice. 


Chapter XXVIII 
Born Again 

“Kid,” said Jack, “Clara is bound to take an 
outing, an 5 I’ve got some important matters to 
attend to, so I reckon it’s up to you to play coach- 
man.” And his smile spread insinuatingly. 

As Clara and Harry were leaving, Jack also 
fired another similar shot. “Don’t git too pre- 
occupied, Kid, the Injuns ain’t all back on the 
reservation!” 

Harry Western, waving a reply, urged forward 
the team and Jack’s raillery was lost in the rattle 
of the light spring camping-wagon. 

“Jack always was a big tease,” ventured 
Clara presently, breaking the silence between 
them. “But I let it go in one ear and out the 
other.” 

After a short pause, Harry said, “He shore 
has be’n a good friend to me!” 

“Yes, Jack has taken a great liking to you. 
Hank says he’s glad that he’s merried, because 
you’ve cut him out — meaning, I suppose, that 
you’ve come between him and Jack.” 


370 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“ Oh,” smiled Harry, “ Hank needn’t fear. 
Jack’s heart is big enough to hold us both, an’ 
another besides.” 

“Do you mean that he has a sweetheart?” 
questioned Clara. 

“If he has,” sighed Harry, “it’s more than I 
know.” 

They fell silent, each in deep contemplation. 
Thus, the little team of bronchos jogged over 
the dusty adobe trail: the two persons behind 
them silent and talkative by turns. 

At high noon, with the pitiless sun beating 
down on the blinding adobe, which radiated the 
heat up into their faces, they were gladdened 
by the sight of an old mesquite tree. While 
Harry unhitched the horses and fed them sparing- 
ly some barley and hay from the tail-gate of the 
wagon, Clara Maxwell made preparations for 
the frugal meal. Harry shortly kindled a small 
fire with old bark and dead branches lying around 
and put on the kettle to warm over some lamb 
stew. Clara Maxwell also put the coffee in 
some water they had carried especially for the 
purpose and put it on the fire. “Isn’t this just 
like camping!” she exclaimed delightedly. 

Presently they sought the scanty shade and 


BORN AGAIN 


377 


began to satisfy their ravenous appetites. “How 
differently food tastes here,” Clara remarked. 
“I suppose you simply couldn’t endure city life.” 

“Not very long. I shore would git plumb 
lonesome!” 

“Which is the more lonesome, a stranger in a 
crowded city or a tenderfoot on an endless plain? 
Though most persons prefer the crowded city, 
I’ve spent much time in both places, and it seems 
to me that here one’s heart has more chance of 
growing big!” 

“You think so?” questioned Harry. “Seems 
to me that I feel smaller every day. What is 
life, anyway! Ain’t we born to die! Don’t 
we lay wearily down at night to git up the nex’ 
day an’ sweat ag’in? So on the nex’ day an’ 
the nex’ — till we die? Ain’t it much like the 
weather: a few days of sunshine an’ all the rest 
stormy? What was yesterday to me? Didn’t 
I toil jus’ the same? True, today now thar’s 
sunshine? But what’ll tomorrow be? What 
does it all amount to? Take the Colonel, fer 
instance, barrin’ all his trouble an’ takin’ all 
his success in account, what does it mean? He 
kain’t take his money with him when he dies — 
an’ life ain’t very long. Then, what is life?” 


378 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Don’t you think that this life is only a school 
to fit us for better things?” smiled Clara Max- 
well encouragingly. “On Judgment Day the 
chaff will be thrown aside for the fire, while the 
wheat will be gathered into the garner.” 

“But, if the wheat’s already spoiled, how kin 
it be saved? I don’t think God would listen 
to a no-account kid like me!” 

“Ah!” Clara exclaimed softly, “listen to this: 
Tor God so loved the world that He gave His 
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth 
in Him should not perish but have everlasting 
life.’ And again: ‘Repent and be baptized 
every one in the name of Jesus Christ for the 
remission of sins. . . Though they be as 

scarlet they shall be white as snow through the 
blood of Christ.’ ” 

Harry slowly arose, then sinking to his knees 
he asked: “What shall I do to be saved? What 
shall I do?” 

Softly he heard Clara Maxwell’s voice, and 
it seemed like an angel whispering: “ ‘The wages 
of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal 
life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ We must 
'be born again.’ ” 

“ ‘Born again’?” Harry repeated incredulously. 
“ ‘Born again’? How?” 


BORN AGAIN 


379 


“Of the Spirit the second time. ‘And 
we know that whosoever is born of God sinneth 
not.’ Did not Paul say, ‘I thank God through 
Jesus Christ our Lord. So then with the mind 
I myself serve the law of God; but with the 
flesh, the law of sin. There is therefore now no 
condemnation to them which are in Christ 
Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the 
Spirit. To be carnally minded is death, but to 
be spiritually minded is life and peace.’ ” 

“Oh, how I would love to be like you!” de- 
clared Harry vehemently. “You’re so good!” 

“ ‘There is none good but God . . In my flesh 
dwelleth no good thing.’ ” 

Harry opened his eyes wide with astonish- 
ment! “Well,” said he, “then what kin we 
do?” Every declaration seeemed more puzzling. 

“First, we must repent; second, we must 
confess our sins to God; third, we must ha ve faith 
in Jesus Christ as our personal Saviour.” 

“I wish I could savvy!’ ” 

“ ‘The natural man receiveth not the things 
of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness 
to him : neither can he know them because they 
are spiritually discerned . . . This kind can 
come forth by nothing, but by prayer.’ ” 


380 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Harry knelt on one knee before Clara and 
supplicated, “Will you learn me how?” 

With a smothered exclamation Clara Maxwell 
stared over the bent head. Harry glanced up, 
saw her gazing thus, and he looked around. 
Slowly he arose. A few yards away stood a 
mounted Indian, making a critical examination 
of the camp. Straightway the native encircled 
them, continuing his scrutiny. The campers 
endeavored to appear composed. Shortly three 
more Indians rode up, each armed like the first 
with old Spencer repeaters. In low gutteral 
tones they discussed the situation in a manner 
that was convincing. Clara was so frightened 
that she could not eat, but Harry, with assumed 
indifference, began to stir the kettle. To the 
campers’ increasing apprehension more Indians 
arrived, till they were completely surrounded. 
They had no weapons of any description, and if 
they had, they would have been just as helpless. 

There was no assistance within many miles; 
on every hand a broad expanse of range, walled 
in with mighty mountains. Visions of their 
bones, gnawed clean by hungry coyotes, in- 
stinctively filled their minds. Harry had to do 
something to relieve the nervous tension, and 


BORN AGAIN 


881 


he mechanically dished up some stew, rejoined 
the young lady and audaciously continued his 
meal, in a manner that implied that he did not 
care for all the Indians in the territory! But, 
as they increased in number, he did not dare to 
demonstrate so with eye to eye contempt. He 
merely endeavored to converse with Miss Max- 
well as if they were alone, simply ignoring them. 
It must have perplexed them — at least, it ap- 
parently kept them at bay. 

How long they remained thus, they could not 
recollect. And even to this day they argue as 
to the number of Indians. She swears that 
there were about two hundred, and Harry con- 
tends from three to four dozen. Howbeit they 
both agree that there were enough to make the 
blood run cold! They were shockingly startled 
by a loud yell, instantly answered in a wild 
chorus, causing their hair to stand on end. 
Simultaneously the entire band of Indians 
wheeled their little ponies and began to encircle 
the campers, tossing their arms and weapons 
in the air and yelling hilariously. Clara and 
Harry looked into each other’s eyes and mutely 
said, “Our last day has come!” 

The circle spread out and gradually drew 


382 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


away. Like the lion and the mouse the campers 
felt they were being played with; no chance of 
escape. Thus as they defiantly glared back at 
the deadly circle, they saw a puff of smoke, fol- 
lowed by the sharp report of a rifle! With a 
wild yell part of the circle broke, and dashed 
toward them, firing and shouting as it came. 
Clara involuntarily clutched Harry’s arm. 
Swiftly and relentlessly approached the reckless 
riders, followed closely by more of their band! 
What chance had the two? It was hard to die 
without striking a blow! Yet, weaponless they 
must stand, watching the oncoming braves! 
But, when within ten yards, suddenly the 
horsemen swerved and dashed recklessly by! 

“Look! look!” cried Harry, pointing just 
ahead of them. “It’s a cotton-tail! They’re 
a-chasin’ a cotton-tail!” 

With a sigh of relief Clara and Harry watched 
them chase the poor rabbit, which was soon 
driven within the fatal circle, and the end quickly 
came. One of the Indians threw himself from 
his pony and with a long, triumphant yell, held 
up the quivering trophy. 

When the sounds of the chase had died away, 
Clara, said, “I’ve had enough camping today. 
Let us go back.” 


BORN AGAIN 


383 


“Do you think God protected us?” Harry 
asked reverently. 

“ ‘God is our refuge and strength’,” quoted 
Clara, “ ‘a very present help in trouble . . . He 
shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep 
thee in all thy ways.’ ” 

“Oh, I’d like to know Him!” Harry said. 
“It’s all so wonderful!” 

They gathered up their trappings, hitched up 
the bronchos and drove homeward. 

Upon arriving there they told of their adven- 
ture. “You shore had a close shave!” Jack 
declared. “Generally the Injuns take every- 
thin’ away from you, settin’ you adrift afoot. 
An’ even murder you sometimes, throwin’ your 
bodies in the brush. But that’s all right, Kid, I 
savvy; I’ve be’n in love myself! You ain’t re- 
sponsible for lettin’ them devils creep up on you, 
when there was a nice girl by yore side!” 

This so completely agitated Clara and 
Harry that their tormentor’s convictions were 
substantiated. In private Clara confidentially 
told her brother that he must have considered 
himself a great matchmaker. 

A few days later Jack came unexpectedly 
upon Harry in the stable, reading a book with 


884 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


thin, gilt-edged leaves, and covered with soft 
black leather. Harry blushed a little, then 
proudly stood his ground. “A Bible, Kid?” 
asked Jack. 

“Clara loaned it to me.” 

“It shore’s a good book!” Jack declared. 

“Seems to me, Jack, it’s mighty grand! So 
interestin’! An’ it shore makes a feller think — 
some!” 

“It shore does, Kid — Mrs. Smith used to tell 
me stories of it, an’ Bill Upton used to rip out 
a sermon or two onct in awhile. Lately, though, 
we’ve all be’n so busy we ain’t had much time 
fer readin’ — ” 

Hank interrupted them with a perplexed 
frown. “Say!” he exclaimed, “I’m in a deuce 
of a predicament! The preacher, he come to 
Betsy Ann an’ got her all worked up over buyin’ 
a pianer an’ takin’ — ” 

“A pianer!” echoed Jack and Harry. 

“Shore. An’ Betsy begged me so gol durn 
hard that I up an’ consented. Says I, Tf we’ve 
got to mortgage the hull sheebang’ — ” 

“Who’ll give her lessons?” asked Jack. 

“Why, the preacher.” 

“The preacher!” 


BORN AGAIN 


385 


“Shore pop — after school. So, after thinkin’ 
over the proposition, says I to myself, ‘It ain’t 
jus’ right to mortgage our weddin’ presents, 
an’ I sauntered here to borrie ’bout two hundred 
bucks from you an’ the balance I pays on monthly 
installments till the pianer’s mine. The preacher’s 
an agent fer a firm in Los Angeles, an’ he said 
he’d offer me very liberal inducements.” 

Jack winked at Harry, turned again to Hank 
and asked, “What else does that preacher do 
fer a livin’?” 

“Oh, he sells books, paints houses, teaches 
school, pianer lessons an’ I hear he’s a-thinkin’ 
of runnin’ fer sheriff. One thing shore, he 
inflicts some perty high idees on the women 
folks. What in Sam Hill does Betsy Ann want 
a pianer fer! But she was so set on it, I jus’ 
couldn’t bear to refuse her.” 

“Even barbarians have music, Hank. Why 
shouldn’t you? You cert’nly have a wife to be 
proud of! Why, you kain’t show me a more 
progressive woman in New Mexico!” 

“Say, Jack,” Hank warned, “don’t let her 
hear you talk that-a-way. I’ll have to buy her a 
swell carriage an’ high-steppin’ hosses. Betsy 
got some perty high notions. It’s all right to 


386 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


have ’em as long as they don’t cost too much — 
fer when they do, they’re unpropitious, or some- 
thin’.” 

“Well,” said Jack after a pause, “I wish 
you’d ride over to town an’ fetch back Calico, 
Kid.” 

As Harry rode past “The First Chance” 
saloon he heard a voice addressing him. Turning, 
he saw Green lounging with some idlers in 
front, and continued on his way, not noticing 
them. In vain Green yelled abuses. Hence, 
desiring to avoid the rowdies upon returning, 
Harry rode in the rear of the saloon. But it 
so happened that Green saw him and stopped 
him. “Zay, why didn’t you stop when I tol’ 
you!” he demanded angrily. The Kid ordered 
him to step aside and allow him to pass. Green 
did not move. Wherefore, he was almost 
ridden down. Jumping aside, he let the horse 
go, but quick as a cat he climbed on the back of 
the horse that led behind. 

The Kid reined up his broncho with a sharp 
pull. “Git off Calico,” he commanded coolly. 

But with a galling curse, Green cut the tether 
with his knife. Instantly the Kid was along- 
side. “You’ll hear from Jack Morris for this!” 


BORN AGAIN 


387 


he burst out. “Jack won’t stand no liberties 
from even a pore jackass as you!” 

“Why don’t you git me off!” challenged Green, 
with a sardonic sneer, and he cut the tether. 

The Kid jumped from his broncho, stepped 
forward and caught the end of the tether hanging 
from “Calico’s” neck. Green’s friends jeered 
him and he attempted to plant his fist in the 
Kid’s face, but finding his efforts useless he 
dismounted and made a vicious jab which landed 
on the left side of the Kid’s head as he ducked. 
Then, the Kid did a very queer thing. Instead 
of hitting back or drawing his six-shooter, he 
stood straight up and offered his unprotected 
cheek, saying calmly, “Now, hit the other side, 
too!” 

With unconcealed amazement Green hesitated, 
utterly dumbfounded ! Had he heard aright? 
“ ‘Now, hit the other side, too’!” The blood 
curled hotly in his veins, and forgetting his 
sprained hand which had come into compact 
with the Kid’s head, he swung hard on the de- 
fenseless jaw! The Kid fell like a log. Holding 
his aching hand, the big coward stood, snarling 
over the senseless form. Hotter boiled the 
blood within him, and he drew back his boot to 


288 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


deliver a kick; but before it could be delivered 
he was drawn back. “Let the Kid be,” said 
Red Nose Bill. “He didn’t do you no harm, 
anyway.” 

“Didn’t he start this here fight?” Green blus- 
tered. 

“Well, haven’t you licked him? What do 
you want to hit a man when he’s down fer? 
He’s only a kid anyway.” 

“ ‘Now, hit the other side, too’!” Green con- 
temptuously repeated. “Zay, what’s he a-tryin’ 
to give us, anyway! An’ him pokin’ his jaw 
right in the way of my fist!” he complained. 

“You’d better put some col’ water on yore 
fist,” suggested Red Nose Bill. “It’s a-swellin’ 
up like a mashed potater. You go in an’ git 
patched up, whilst we doctor up the Kid — he 
mus’ shore be some hurt!” 

Early the next morning Hank aroused Jack 
with the information that he had found “Calico” 
waiting at the stable door, the tether being cut 
off short at the neck, but no one had either seen 
or heard of the Kid. Jack walked quickly to 
the stable and made a careful examination of 
“Calico,” also the tether. Soon Jack and 
Hank were in the saddle loping toward Maxwell 


BORN AGAIN 


389 


City. Arriving there, Jack inquired if the Kid 
had come in yesterday. He was told that the 
Kid was at Madam Myrile’s and so rode thither. 
Dismounting in front of the popular house, Jack 
and Hank tied their bronchos, entered, greeted 
the modest little Madam and asked about the 
Kid. Gravely she invited them to be seated 
and sat beside them. Then she gave them an 
account of the fight. 

“ ‘Now, hit the other side, too’!” Jack repeated 
bewildered. “What do you think of that. 
Hank! Say, what’s got into the Kid, anyway!” 

“He born again,” said the Madam. 

Jack and Hank looked at each other, then at 
the Madam, and then around the room. 

“I reckon you’ve got me up too early, Hank!” 
said Jack. “I mustn’t be awake yet. ‘Born 
ag’in’, Madam? What do you mean?” 

“The first time we’re born of flesh; the 
second time of the Spireet — ” she explained. 
“So when the monstur Green heet Harry, the 
Spireet no strike back, but say to heet the other 
side too — like our Saviour.” 

“An 5 did that — that Green have the nerve 
to hit the Kid that-a-way!” Jack exclaimed. 
“Wait till we git our han’s on him, Hank!” 


390 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“No goot,” declared the Madam. “He’s 
already leeked ‘to frazzle 5 , he say. 55 

“Who did it? 55 w 

“The Keed. 55 

“The Kid! 55 

“Sure. 55 

“How? 55 

“Easy 5 nough. 55 

Again Jack and Hank looked puzzled; the 
situation was too deep for them. 

“Say, Hank, 55 said Jack, presently, “please 
pinch me an 5 let me know if I 5 m awake. Madam 
whar is the Kid? 55 

“In No. 4. 55 

“Kin we see him? 55 

“Sure, 55 replied the Madam, and led the way. 

Upon the threshold Jack stopped with a sur- 
prised exclamation. Hank peered over his 
shoulder to ascertain the cause: there sat the 
Kid in an old rocker, and nearby paced Green. 
“Come in, Jack, 55 invited the Kid. 

Jack looked first at the Kid’s swelled jaw and 
head, and then at Green’s bandaged right hand. 
“Say, 55 confessed he, “I don’t see the joke! 
Will someone please be good enough to explain 
this here entertainment? 55 


BORN AGAIN 


391 


“Oh, it’s all right,” smiled the Kid. 

“Fellers,” said Green, “the Kid’s licked me to 
a frazzle! I shore take off my hat to him! You 
knows how I always hated him — fer no reason — 
an’ always tried to git him to fight so’st I could 
beat him up proper. Well, yesterday I got my 
chance. I hit him on the top of the head, sprain- 
in’ this here paw, but instead of fightin’ me the 
Kid stuck out his jaw an’ says, ‘Now, hit this 
side, too!’ Well, it shore so completely bam- 
bozzled me that I couldn’t think. Then I got 
so mad I swung with all my might on his pro- 
trudin’ jaw! It near put him out of business. 

“I’ve always knowed that the Kid warn’t 
no coward, an’ after coolin’ off a bit I tried to 
figger out what was his game. But I couldn’t. 
All night I figgered. In the mornin’ I was more 
perplexed than ever! Says I to myself, ‘He mus’ 
have a card up his sleeve shore.’ At las’ I got 
so curious that I couldn’t set still any longer. 
Why should he tell me to hit the other side, too? 
It shore wasn’t natural. I never heard of such 
a thing afore. So, lettin’ curiosity plumb git the 
bes’ of me, I came here to fin’ out. An’ when 
the Kid jus’ set thar a-smilin’ at me, with no 
malice, at all, I was more stumped than ever. 


392 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Says I to myself, ‘Here’s a new game. I don’t 
know the rules.’ The Kid has the hull town a- 
guessin’ an’ me in particular. Tell ’em. Kid, 
what you tol’ me a leetle bit ago.” 

The Kid smiled, as he quoted: “ ‘If it be 
possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably 
with all men. . . . Dearly beloved, avenge not 
yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: 
for it is written, Vengeance is mine: I will re- 
pay, saith the Lord. . . . Therefore, if thine 
enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him 
drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of 
fire on his head ... Be not overcome of 
evil, but overcome evil with good.’ ” 

The others silently gazed at the mysterious 
speaker. They simply could not comprehend 
the case. 

Green broke the silence. “Now, you savvy 
how the Kid licked me to a frazzle?” he asked. 
“From now on, I’m his obedient servant — I 
shore am! I’ll do anythin’ fer him I kin!” 

After a pause. Jack inquired, “How’s yore 
head feel. Kid?” 

“Much better; it don’t ache near as bad. 
I’ll be ready to go with you in an hour or so.” 

Jack turned to the Madam and said, “Hank 


BORN AGAIN 


393 


an’ I started off without breakfast an’ I reckon 
you’d better pack in a hundred dollars’ worth of 
pancakes!” 

As the Madam was about to go out, Green 
started to follow her. 

“Ain’t you a-goin’ to join us. Green?” the 
Kid invited. 

“Me!” exclaimed the astonished plainsman. 
“After what I done! An’ you want me to eat 
with you?” 

“If Jack won’t object.” 

“Anythin’ you want, Kid,” said Jack, more 
confounded than ever. 

“Well!” gasped Green, “this shore beats the 
Dutch! It shore does!” 

“You ain’t any more stumped than me,” 
confessed Hank. “I always felt that you warn’t 
fit fer our company, an’ some day one of us 
would git yore scalp, but the Kid has shore done 
the trick. An’ how he done it, by jinks, it 
shore beats me!” 

When the trays of tempting food arrived, be- 
fore the others began to eat, the Kid slowly 
arose, raised his right hand and asked God’s 
blessing. More amazed than ever the others 
silently looked on. 


394 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


Presently they ate, the Kid, endeavoring to 
ease the awkwardness of the situation. Green, 
however, gulped down his food, agitatedly arose, 
bade them “so long” and hastily stumbled out. 

“Kid,” said Jack, “You’ve shore ‘licked him 
to a frazzle’. I’ve always felt that it would be 
my job, but you’ve done the trick — ” 

“An’ Green could make four like the Kid,” 
said Hank. “Well Kid, you must’ve plastered 
them coals of fire on perty thick! An’ if a kid 
kin lick a man that-a-way without a six-shooter, 
why — it shore knocks out the shootin’ irons!” 

The Kid did not reply, but over his face 
beamed a smile of deep contentment and joy. 

“Yes,” remarked Jack, “when you’re ‘born 
ag’in’ six-shooters are no account!” 


Chapter XXIX 


The Humor of Jack 

“Jack, you’d better take a rest — go up into 
the hills fer a spell,” advised the Colonel. 
“ ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ 
Take a vacation.” 

Jack thought it over and decided to take his 
father’s advice. 

“Hank an’ Ed are too much taken up with 
their brides to think of goin’ campin’ with us, 
so I guess we’ll have to go alone,” said Jack to 
the Kid. 

Thus they packed a heavy camp-wagon and 
hitched six mules to it. Harry tied two saddle 
horses behind and they were ready to start at 
day-break. 

“Now, stay a long time,” Hank grinned, hold- 
ing fast to Betsy’s arm. “We kin run the outfit 
without you. Me an’ Betsy will be up one of 
these days to see you, with some home-made 
apple pies, ‘jus’ like mother used to make.’ ” 

“Be shore that you do,” said Jack as he waved 
a last farewell. 


396 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


At noon the mules crawled into the little cow- 
town of Cimarron. The midday sun beat down 
on the dusty adobe road; and yet, the children 
of this land do not mind it — except that it is 
very hard on the eyes. 

Jack and Harry unhitched the mules at a 
boarding-stable, called “The Broncho Corral,” 
and threw them some hay. Then the campers 
walked to a little eating house for dinner. Two 
hours later the outfit crawled out of town toward 
“the hills.” 

The journey was without incident, and they 
arrived at the camping ground in due time. 

Jack had traveled over his father’s land — 
miles and miles of it — and now he pitched a tent 
on the bank of a stream in his father’s foot-hills. 
In a remarkably short time the camp was made 
and the supper was hurried as fast as possible: 
the fragrance of the pure mountain air gave to 
the campers a very keen appetite. 

After the meal was eaten and the dishes washed, 
Jack rolled a cigarette and sat at the campfire. 
He endeavored to read a book by its flickering 
light. One of the hounds put his big paw on 
Jack’s shoulder and tried to lick his master’s 
face. Jack jumped up by way of defending 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


397 


himself and with gentle caresses scolded the 
playful thoroughbred by calling it pet names. 

“He likes you,” Harry remarked. Just then 
“Calico” neighed as he jealously watched Jack 
pet the hound. “So do they all,” Harry con- 
tinued smiling. 

The baying of a hound was heard echoing 
through the hills, and the one at Jack’s side 
sprang to the chase, with long, loud yelps, 
which in turn rang through the hills, and echoed 
and re-echoed! 

All the sportsman’s blood in Jack and Harry 
thrilled and they longed for the morrow, to be 
on the trail. Among these foothills and their 
canyons are cinnamon bear and mountain lions, 
the cool, clear streams are filled with trout; and 
above, in the beautiful parks on the mesas are 
grouse, wild turkeys and white-tail deer. 

At eight o’clock Harry said, “Guess I’ll 
turn in.” 

“Reckon I’ll sleep here,” said Jack, and rolling 
himself in his heavy blanket, he pillowed his 
head on his saddle, and was soon fast asleep 
under the stars. 

About three o’clock the campers were awak- 
ened by the baying of the hounds, who had 


398 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


struck a fresh trail. Again, the hills echoed and 
re-echoed to the sound. 

At daybreak the camp was astir. Harry 
went to the stream to catch some trout, while 
Jack made the coffee. 

The morning was clear and cool. Not a leaf 
waved, and the smoke from the campfire rose 
straight toward the sky. Harry presently re- 
turned with ten trout and they were put in the 
frying-pan. The campers rubbed their hands 
with delight and their mouths watered as they 
watched the delicate brown fish sizzling in the 
butter. How good the coffee smelled. 

“This is the way I like toast,” said Jack, 
“smothered in butter.” He spread a large 
lump and it melted on the thoroughly warmed 
bread. “Say, ain’t them fish perty near ready?” 
he asked. 

“Almost,” Harry replied. “Say, Jack, but 
you’re gittin’ impatient.” 

Jack smiled. “Somethin’s given me an awful 
appetite this momin’,” 

“Here’s a fish that’s done.” 

They ate heartily. When their ravenous 
appetites were satisfied, they washed the dishes 
in the stream and placed them away in the camp- 
wagon. 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


399 


“We ought to git thar by sun-down,” said 
Jack. He cracked the long, snake-like whip 
and the mules crawled up the trail. 

“Whar’s that book you were readin’ last 
evenin’?” Harry asked. 

Jack reached back for it and handed it to 
Harry, saying, “Do you like love stories?” 

“You bet I do!” Harry replied. “Is this one 
good?” 

“It ain’t jus’ one story, but it’s a book of many. 
You see the name’s on the cover, ‘Little Stories 
of American Life.’ ” 

Harry turned the pages carelessly. He stopped 
at one of the stories entitled “The Spider 
and the Fly.” 

“That sounds like a funny love story,” said 
he. “Guess I’ll read it if you will excuse me. 
Jack.” 

“Shore. Say, kain’t you read it out loud?” 

“Never learned how. But I’ll tell it to you 
when I’ve read it. It ain’t very long.” 

“Harry,” said Jack, “if you read love stories, 
it goes to prove that you’re in love.” 

“With whom. Jack?” 

“Search me. Mebbe it’s the Madam.” 

“How about yoreself ?” smiled the Kid. 


400 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Say, Kid, you’d better read that story.” 

Harry laughed. “Who is she?” he asked. 

Jack pointed to the hills and said, “She’s 
thar?” And he began to roll a cigarette. 

They looked at each other and smiled. 

Then Harry read the story to himself. When 
he had finished Jack asked, “Well?” 

Harry told him the following: 

“Viola Goodman was the only child of well- 
to-do parents, who lived at Riverside, California. 
She had wavy, auburn hair, an’ soft blue eyes, 
very expressive. She was a beautiful gal, an’ 
bes’ of all, she had an especially fine disposition, 
an’ character. 

“Not only these favored her, but she was 
endowed with many talents. All this had won 
her many friends, an’ a beautiful disposition 
had captivated ’em. Chiefly, a young man by 
the name of Raleigh Forsyth, who asked her to 
be his wife. She accepted and they were engaged. 

“The gal was studyin’ music an’ she boarded 
at Mrs. Logan’s high class house, bein’ a great 
favorite everywhere, especially among the young 
folks and students who also boarded at the same 
place. 

“She was jovial an’ always did her part toward 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


401 


havin’ a pleasant time after study hours. But 
she was true to her lover, even though she did 
take pleasure with other young men in small 
plays, which they gave to pass the long winter 
nights an’ entertain their friends.” 

“Wished I could find such a gal,” Jack sighed. 

“Now, who’s in love?” Harry laughed. 

“Yes, but this is only a story.” 

“That’s so,” said Harry. “But you’ve inter- 
rupted me. 

“The winter nights passed rapidly. She was 
the star an’ Daniel Wentworth was leadin’ 
man. He fell madly in love with her. But 
he knew that she was to be merried soon. 

“One day he took the landlady in his con- 
fidence, an’ they together schemed a plan. ‘The 
spider spun a cunnin’ little web to trap the in- 
nocent little fly’. For their next entertainment 
he planned a mock marriage. The entire scheme 
had been kept a secret. An ordained minister 
was visitin’ Mrs. Logan an’ he performed the 
weddin’, as he thought as a true one. 

“Everything worked out fine even to the 
serving of the feast. The guests departed. 
Then Wentworth tol’ the gal she was his legal 
wife! 


402 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“She became frantic. She tried to leave but 
was forced to stay an’ live with him as his wife. 
She sent word to her father an 5 to her lover. 
He was heart-broken. 

“Her father was not entirely reconciled to her 
engagement with Raleigh Forsyth, because he 
was not wealthy, an’ when he received the news 
he wrote his daughter to remain with her hus- 
band as long as she was legally married to him. 
Besides, he came from a rich family. 

“She followed her father’s advice but her 
heart was heavy. She never forgot Raleigh. 
She was sad an’ cheerless — a pitiful wreck. But 
her wounded affections were blessed in after 
years by three beautiful children. 

“It ain’t good fer you to smoke so much, 
Jack,” advised Harry. 

Jack looked at him. “Say, Kid,” he smiled, 
“you’re a regular ‘sky-pilot’!” After a pause he 
added, “I’ll bet that you had a good mother.” 

Harry looked away. “Yes,” he answered, 
very low. 

“But, mebbe a dad that was too strict?” 
Jack suggested. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, Kid, that you’re too good fer these 
parts.” 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


403 


“Jack, you flatter me. I’m not any better 
than you — an’ not half as good.” 

Once more Jack smiled. “I like you,” he 
said after a pause. 

Harry looked pleased. But, just then a tardy 
mule called his attention and he cracked the 
big ten-foot lash. 

“Oh my!” sighed Jack after a few moments’ 
silence, “Guess I’m doomed to bach it. Say, 
Kid,” he said, finally, “I kain’t jus’ git over it: 
cornin’ so near marryin’ my sister. It kinder 
made me feel skeery!” 

“Is that the reason you’re not goin’ to git 
spliced?” smiled Harry. 

“Guess so. An’ then ag’in, they say ‘when 
a man merries, his trouble begins.’ ” 

“I don’t believe it,” declared Harry. 

“Don’t you?” 

“That is — when thar’s a true merriage. It’s 
the greatest joy on earth.” 

“Why Kid,” Jack smiled, “you must’ve had 
experience.” 

“Not very much. But I’ve read ’bout it 
in books.” 

“Do they really tell the truth?” 

“I think so. Don’t you remember? Yore 


404 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


sister said that she always tried to put forth a 
lesson in her plays / 5 

“That’s right,” said Jack. “I wouldn’t read 
a book that wouldn’t learn — teach me something. 
It’s a waste of valuable time.” 

“Do you think love stories are?” 

“Some of them,” Jack smiled. Then he 
added, gravely: “But some love stories are a 
great help. My sister showed me — when we 
were engaged — that love is everything! An’ 
now my life seems empty without it!” 

They remained silent for a long time. 

Jack revealed the channel of his thoughts: 
“Ed is another feller since he’s merried. He’s 
always smilin’; Hank acts the same way. They 
must have drawn the right cards.” 

“You have held good hands yoreself, Jack,” 
Harry smiled. “If you did lose the game that 
time, you won in the end. It was a case of the 
loser winning — that is, you won Ed’s respect 
an’ admiration.” 

“That’s better than winnin’ at cards,” Jack 
said. And again he lapsed into silence. 

Occasionally he talked on various subjects, 
but at most he said little. Harry knew that 
Jack was thinking, and he too kept silent. 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


405 


When the sun was straight overhead in the 
heavens they stopped to cook the noon meal and 
feed the hungry mules. 

Jack produced a small whiskey flask. Harry 
put out his hand for it, saying, “Give that to 
me; you don’t need it, Jack.” 

“Only a few drops to quench the thirst,” 
smiled Jack. 

“A few drops are a few too many. You see, 
Jack, I’m a strict ‘sky-pilot,’ ain’t I.” 

“You’ve got a strange influence over me, Kid; 
I reckon you’ve got me hypnotized!” 

“I hope so when you want to take this,” 
said Harry, indicating the flask. “This is many 
a poor fool’s downfall.” 

After dinner Jack and Harry took a little nap. 
Jack awoke first and he saw a happy smile on his 
companion’s face. Then in the solitude of the 
foothills Jack did a very unexpected thing: he 
knelt and kissed the sleeping youth! 

Harry opened his eyes and stared around as 
he sat up. 

“I thought that durn fly would awake you 
afore I could skeer him off!” Jack stammered, 
rising and wiping his face with the handkerchief 
at his neck. 


406 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Is it time to be goin’?” Harry asked. 

“I reckon it is. The flies are gittin’ bother- 
some here, but up thar, whar we’ll camp tonight, 
they ain’t so bad.” 

“Isn’t it grand to be free from all responsibili- 
ty?” Harry asked. 

“Bet yore life! I feel as gay as a young 
kitten! What do you say to a wrestle?” 

“You’re too strong fer me,” Harry laughed. 
“But, say. I’ll beat you shootin’!” 

“That’s a go,” said Jack, whipping out his 
six-shooter. “Whar’s a mark?” 

“Here’s one!” Harry smiled, indicating him- 
self. 

“Git out. Kid!” Jack exclaimed, slapping him 
on the back. 

“Well, I am, Jack, when I try to beat you with 
a Colt’s.” 

“Don’t be so shore. Now, you see that fly on 
Calico’s left ear! Watch me knock — ” 

The hounds came baying over a hill, and Harry 
touched Jack’s arm. 

“Look up thar,” he said. 

“By jinks!” Jack exclaimed, “a bear! Saddle 
yore bronc’, Kid, an’ we’ll have some fun!” 

In a surprisingly short time they charged up 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


407 


the hill in hot pursuit of the bear which disap- 
peared behind a large rock. When they rounded 
it they saw it scrambling up the rocks with 
the hounds at its heels. The sportsmen 
spurred after them, hot on the trail! They 
dared not risk a shot for fear of hitting the 
thoroughbreds. 

Slowly the bear and the hounds gained on the 
horses. The riders had to take good care or 
they would easily have been unseated on such a 
rough surface. Finally the horses were dis- 
tanced. 

“We might’s well go back,” said Jack. “Old 
Bruno knows his ground.” 

“Bear meat ain’t so very good jus’ now, any- 
way!” Harry grinned. 

“That’s right. We’ll git another chance, 
though,” said Jack. 

They turned their bronchos toward camp, 
picking the way with Western intuition. 

When they had retraced their steps about 
half a mile, Jack exclaimed, “By jinks! what’s 
that?” 

Harry’s eyes followed the direction of Jack’s 
finger and he saw just ahead the body of a man 
hanging from the branch of a tree! 


408 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“The victim of a lynchin’ party!” Harry ex- 
claimed. 

They dismounted for examination. The body 
hung out of reach. Jack climbed the tree and 
cut the weather-worn rope. The body feel and 
hit the ground with a dull rattle! The decayed 
clothes fell off. 

“I reckon it’s be’n up thar fer quite a spell,” 
said Jack. 

“See, Jack, he’s been shot, too; thar’s the bullet 
holes,” said Harry, pointing at several holes 
in the well-preserved and parchment-like skin. 

After a close examination, Jack said, “They’re 
worm holes!” 

He pushed away the rotten clothing with a 
stick and searched for papers, but found none. 

“Let’s bury him under those rocks,” said 
Harry. 

When the bones were laid away, Jack and 
Harry left the place, Jack remained silent until 
he reached the camp. 

“Let’s pack up,” said he, without explanation. 

They broke camp, and as they were leaving 
the spot, Jack glanced back over their trail 
and asked, “Kin you guess who it was, Kid?” 

Harry looked at his friend a moment and 
said simply, “Cap’n Kidd, I reckon.” 


THE HUMOR OF JACK 


“Up thar — yonder lays the Cap’n!” 

“An’ after all the trouble he’s given you, 
Jack, you have laid him away in his last resting 
place!” 

“Because, Kid, you have shown me that to 
do good fer evil is best.” 


Chapter XXX 


The Man in Chaps 

Jack was smoking and looking at the blaze in 
the fireplace in the mess-house of his father’s 
home ranch as he stood leaning with a hand 
upon the shelf. After a while he turned to 
Harry Western: “Kid, I’m kinder dissatisfied!” 

“You? You’ve got everythin’ a feller could 
wish fer,” said Harry. 

“I used to work hard fer my fifty a month an’ 
I knowed the value of it. Now I’ve come home 
an’ have ever’thin’ fer the askin’. When I 
worked on the round-up fer my grub an’ clothes 
I felt contented as I went ’long, toilin’ each day, 
an’ feelin’ good at night, ’cause I had earned 
another day’s pay. But now ever’thin’s 
planned out fer me — I can’t stand prosperity. 
Hank said I ought to git merried. Red Nose 
Bill suggested to go on a spree. What would 
you say?” 

“Me? Oh — I’d say be contented with what 
you have, an’ — git merried.” 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


411 


“Um — guess that’s better than goin’ on a 
spree, anyway.” He smoked a while in silence. 
“Say, Kid, you ’ve made an impression with the 
gals here, wonder you don’t git merried.” 

“Me, Jack? Why I couldn’t any more ask a gal 
to merry me than you could love a rustler. 
I shore couldn’t. Too bashful!” 

“Kid, bashfulness often robs one of a great 
many pleasures.” 

“Kain’t help it.” 

“ ’Tain’t so blamed hard after all.” 

“You goin’ to try ag’in?” 

“It depends. When I starts a thing I always 
completes it. I started out to git a wife, an’ ef 
she’s livin’. I’ll round her up somewhars! Guess 
you’re right. Kid, I orter git merried. But, 
‘whar’s the material’ as May would say.” 

“The what?” 

“The material — the thing I am to merry?” 

“ ‘The thing’! Wait till I tell yore sisters!” 

“Oh, I see yore game. You’re tryin’ to git 
on the good side of ’em. Of one, at least!” 

“Now, Jack, you know my heart’s so taken 
up with you, thar’s no room left fer women.” 

“Um — h’m! I thought so!” 

“You did? How?” 


412 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Why — ’cause you ’re always watchin’ me. 
I’ve seen you lots o’ times.” 

Jack smoked awhile, thinking. “Wish I could 
sew as good as you kin,” he remarked. “I 
sewed this rip t’other day,” pointing at a tear in 
the sleeve of his heavy flannel shirt, “an’ the 
dura thread pulled through. Guess I didn’t 
put a big ’nough head on it.” 

“I’ll git a needle an’ sew it fer you,” said 
Harry, obligingly. “Jack, that’s the time I 
caught you.” 

“I’ve always got my eyes on you,” Jack 
smiled. 

“Wonder you don’t stare me out of existence.” 

“I’m makin’ a close study of human nature. 
That’s what my sister does before writin’ a play.” 

“You a-goin’ to write a play, too?” 

“Wasn’t thinkin’ of it, jus’ yet. You better 
git that needle an’ thread an’ dura this tear.” 
Harry opened the door, put one foot over the 
sill, and turned again to Jack. He seemed to 
be looking at the floor and smoking. Then he 
looked up and saw Harry watching him. Both 
smiled. And Harry went out. Jack continued 
to smoke. “A crafty kid,” he muttered at 
length, “but not as crafty as this ‘student of 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 41S 

human nature’. Wonder what May would say 
to that?” 

Harry re-entered and went to the table. 
“You better come over here near the light,” he 
said. 

“Ever have much trouble to thread a needle?” 
Jack asked, sitting on the table. 

“Not very much. Do you?” 

“I shore do! The thread goes ev’rywhar but 
whar I want it to go. Let me see you thread the 
needle.” 

“But it’s already threaded.” 

“Kain’t you pull the thread out an’ show me 
how to put it in ag’in?” 

Harry did as Jack had asked. “Um! — that’s 
jus’ the way my sisters thread a needle. But 
you haven’t a knot on the end of yore string.” 

“ I use this kind of a knot,” said Harry, taking 
a button-hole stitch. 

“Whar’d you learn it?” 

“A gal showed me.” 

Harry sewed in silence and Jack watched 
every motion. 

“There,” said Harry, breaking the thread after 
he was through. “Ain’t that fine?” 

“Kid, a woman couldn’t have done better!” 


414 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“1 used to make extra money sewin’ fer the 
boys.” 

“How much do I owe you?” 

“Twenty dollars a stitch!” 

“Whew! Guess you’ll have to wait.” Jack 
walked to the fireplace and threw in his cigarette. 
He saw Harry stick the needle in his shirt and 
remarked, “Say, Kid, a woman sticks a needle 
in her dress, doesn’t she?” 

“Guess she does.” 

“Does a man?” 

“Hardly ever, that I know of.” 

“He puts it down whar he kain’t fin’ it when 
he wants it ag’in. A woman knows whar to fin’ 
her needle when she wants it. She puts it whar 
you jus’ put yore needle!” 

“How do you know?” 

“Watched my sister.” Jack came toward 
Harry. “You ’ve got perty han’s. Kid. But 
you ought to raise a moustache!” 

“Tried it onct, an’ got discouraged,” grinned 
Harry. 

“I thought the Colonel didn’t allow anyone 
to wear a ‘gun’ on the home ranch,” Harry said, 
changing the subject abruptly. 

“At supper this even’ I got him to change his 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


415 


min’, Tol’ ‘im how the boys’re carrying 
pistols concealed in thar shirts. ‘Better let ’em 
wear thar guns in thar belts, so ’st you kin see 
they’re armed an’ be ready’, says I. He thought 
it was a good idea, and said he’d thought of ’t too. 
When my "gun’s’ here,” he placed his hand upon 
the holster which hung low down on his right hip, 
“I feel like I’m master o’ the situation. Afore, I 
felt like a soldier without his sword.” Jack 
mused a few seconds. “Want to play a game o’ 
cards?” he invited abruptly. 

“I never learned how very well,” Harry 
answered confusedly; he did not like Jack’s per- 
ceptible manner; it was too deliberate. 

“Let me learn you,” Jack insisted. 

“Promised my mother never to play, drink or 
smoke.” 

“Bet you eight bits you’re a good ways from 
home.” 

“I ain’t got no home,” said Harry, walking 
sadly away. 

Jack looked after him. “I haven’t had one 
very long,” he said, after a short pause. “Hardly 
know how to take it: everythin’s so easy. 
Guess I’ll saunter over to the house. You corn- 
in’?” 


416 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“No; I believe I’ll go to bed.” 

Harry did not go to the bunk-house but began 
walking the floor. Plainly there was something 
heavy on his mind. He leaned against the 
table — his head dropped. 

Jack looked through the open window at the 
back of the room, his arms resting upon the sill, 
watching Harry. Soon Western raised his head 
with a deep sigh, then walked toward the kitchen 
door. 

“Homesick?” questioned Jack. Harry stopped 
with a startled exclamation. 

“Kid, you’re sad tonight,” said Jack sym- 
pathetically. “Mebbe you’re in love.” 

“Marriage is like ridin’ a pitchin’ broncho,” 
Harry broke out suddenly. “Its front legs often 
nearly touch the ground, then up into the air 
you go, only to come back to earth an’ feel that 
pile-driver blow. The brute will grunt an’ 
squeal with fear an’ rage. Again an’ again the 
terrible stiff-legged jumps! Then with amazin’ 
quickness it will throw itself upon its back, hopin’ 
to crush you. Sometimes it will roll. One of its 
favorite tricks is to brush along a fence, forcin’ 
you to stan’ on the opposite stirrup, an’ then the 
cunning little brute will pitch an’ tear at you with 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


417 


its teeth. Marriage is a treacherous creature! 
We must have uncommon gifts as broncho 
busters, or we’ll be ruined for life.” 

“H’m — my experience has be’n different. I’ve 
had a wide experience, too!” 

“You have?” Harry asked with a slight smile. 

“You bet!” said Jack, entering the room by 
the window. “Some busters know how to break 
a hoss, an’ some don’t know. All bronchos 
kain’t be handled alike. No more kin one 
woman be treated like another.” 

“Do you know, I’m sometimes jealous of you?” 
asked Harry, after a pause. 

“Of me?” Jack said, amazed. 

“Yes; ’cause you might merry an’ — an’ — I 
think a lot of you!” 

Jack was silent. Then he put his hand on 
Harry’s arm: “Kid, at times I notice somethin’ 
in yore life; you become gloomy an’ yore face 
tells me of some sorrow which you try to conceal. 
When we take a man on this ranch we don’t 
know what he was; we ask no questions an’ are 
told no lies; but we very soon know if he’s onto 
his job! He’s got to be straight goods to stay 
here. I’ve be’n keepin’ my eye on you an’ you’re 
all wool. My father ’s given me full charge of 


418 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


his ‘Little Empire’, an’ I need an assistant. Ed 
is goin’ on a honey-moon trip with my sister, an’ 
I’ve got to git somebody to take Ed’s place. 
The Colonel’s got a band of five thousand cows 
he’s goin’ to move. I must fin’ a boss I kin put 
the utmost confidence in; it is a big job. Will 
you accept the responsibility?” 

Harry paused a moment to weigh the respon- 
sibility. “I will,” he said resolutely. 

“Till you’re on the drive you kin room with 
me over at the house,” invited Jack. 

“I’d rather live in private, as I’ve be’n doin’.” 

“Say, Kid, didn’t I say I’d be’n keepin’ my 
eye on you?” Jack declared insinuatingly. Harry 
grew a little uneasy. “Do you punch cows fer 
fun?” Jack questioned, 

“Not exactly. I like to be in the saddle.” 

“Like a respectable cowpony, or a hoss that 
will pitch plumb crazy?” . 

“Which do you prefer?” 

Jack meditated, and he replied: “I don’t keer 
which I have; I take ’em as they come. Why do 
you compare marriage with a pitchin’ broncho?” 

“Oh — because.” 

“That’s a woman’s answer. Kid,” declared 
Jack. 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


410 


“I don’t know why I think marriage so tricky,” 
faltered Harry. 

“How do you know I was a right-handed 
man?” 

“How do I know? ’Cause you wore yore ‘gun’ 
on yore right hip.” 

“A little observation. I, too, have be’n observ- 
in’.” 

“Have you?” 

“I’ve noticed that you keep yore own com- 
pany mos’ the time, an’ very seldom mix with 
the boys. When they go to town to have a 
good time, you don’t join ’em. You don’t smoke, 
chew, drink, swear, gamble, or take the leas’ 
interes’ in any of the coarse words they speak, an’ 
rude jokes; but you always treat ’em with due 
respec’ in yore daily work. Mos’ of the boys 
like you. Yore frame’s small an’ shows no 
sign of great strength, but yore eyes show perse- 
verance an’ determination. The way you licked 
Green made us all sit up an’ take notice. We 
never heard of a man a-doin’ that way afore.” 
Jack continued after a silence, “In crossin’ a 
stream we take off our chaps. Why don’t you, 
Kid?” 

“ ’Cause — ’cause I’m so bashful!” Harry 
grinned uncomfortably. 


420 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“Am I too deliberate in my suspicions?” Jack 
intimated. 

“What do you mean, Jack?” Henry fearfully 
demanded. 

“I mean, Kid, that clothes don’t make a man!” 

“I don’t savvy what you’re tryin’ to git at,” 
said Harry, becoming more uneasy and nervous. 

“Kain’t you guess, if you try real hard?” 

“I’m not good at guessin’ — not worth a cent!” 

“But I am, Kid! Have you any objections to 
tellin’ me why you’re wearin’ ‘chaps’ instead of 
petticoats?” 

“Jack! You’ve found out — ” 

“Didn’t I say I’ve be’n keepin’ my eyes on 
you? You said, ‘Marriage is like ridin’ a pitchin’ 
broncho.’ I’ve broke some perty hard critters. 
Wonder if I could train you? You remember 
when I put the cinches on May an’ Ed?” Jack 
put his arm about Harry’s waist. “Will you let 
me do the same to you, Kid?” 

“Let me go away,” implored the girl brokenly, 
disengaging herself from his fond embrace. 

“No, I want you to stay here and be my wife,” 
said Jack tenderly. “I’ve liked you from the 
very first!” 

“Jack,” she cried, kneeling and clasping his 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


421 


hands, “I kain’t merry you. That’s why I’m 
wearing these ‘chaps’!” 

Jack drew her up into his arms and said: 
“Tell me about it, sweetheart!” 

“I was engaged to — one, who was merried 
already. He fooled me. I kin never merry — I 
didn’t know.” 

“What ’s the man’s name?” Jack demanded. 

“He’s dead.” 

“Did you kill him?” 

“No. I had another lover. He knew ’bout 
the scoundrel an’ killed him; but got wounded 
himself an’ died. He gave me this ring an’ said, 
Tf any man asks you to merry him an’ doubts 
you, show him this ring an’ tell him I loved you! 
If he’s a man he’ll merry you!’ ” 

“By jinks! that feller was all right! Both got 
killed?” 

“Yes!” 

“Must have be’n quite a shootin’ match! 
Does yore folks know you ’re here?” 

“No. I ran away from home. I was only a 
little girl, jus’ seventeen. That was five years 
ago, an’ I’ve learned many lessons by experi- 
ence, but, experience is a hard, hard school- 
master!” 


422 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“The scoundrel deceived you?” 

“I believed him — I trusted him!” 

“Will you trust me?” implored Jack. 

“I — I kain’t, Jack, you’re too good fer me. 
Oh! let me go — let me go!” begged the girl. 

Jack held her fast. “Kid, whar you go I will 
go; yore life will be my life, an’ yore heart will be 
mine, for — I love you!” 

They heard the Colonel’s voice. 

Jack’s father looked in at the open window, 
and saw Jack holding her in his arms. “Well! 
What’s this?” he asked. “Never saw two men in 
such a position.” 

Jack pointed to the door that led to the cook’s 
sleeping apartment. “Go into Betsy’s room, 
put on her white dress, an’ when you’re ready, 
knock. I’ll explain it to the Colonel.” 

“What if he objects?” 

“Then, you an’ I will go whar he kain’t object! 
You’re all mine!” and he kissed her fondly. 
“Now, hurry!” 

As she left the room, the Colonel entered. 
“Where’s Harry?” he asked. 

“Gone.” 

“Gone where?” 

“To put on her petticoats.” 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


423 


“Her petticoats?” gasped the bewildered Col- 
onel. 

“Shore. She’s promised to be my wife,” 
Jack explained incoherently. 

“Your wife? Why has she be’n goin’ roun’ in 
‘chaps’?” 

Jack told the sad story. The Colonel cleared 
his throat. There was a pause. “Father, have 
you any objections to my merryin’ her?” 

“H ’m — Jack, marriage is a strange game. 
First of all, you mus’ know the gal thoroughly 
you are to marry. You have only one chance: 
once tied, whether you live together or not, you’re 
always tied. A woman drags you down or she 
lifts you up. If she’s fallen an’ you marry her, 
then, my boy, you’re on a level with her!” 

“Colonel, the woman I’ve asked to be my wife 
has be’n wronged! She was young an’ she loved 
the villain that fooled her! Has she lost all 
faith in men? No! she loves me an’ I love her. 
Show me the woman that loves a man who won’t 
give in to him, an’ I’ll show you a worP without 
life: a worl’ that’s dead!” 

“Very true! very true! There are all kinds of 
women an’ there are all kinds of men. If a good 
woman gits a bad man her life is thrown away. 
The same with a man. Be very careful when 


424 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


you choose; don’t jump in blind-folded, you’ll 
shorely rue the day!” 

“I’ve watched my sweetheart every day. We 
became great chums. As a man I grew to like 
her very much! Now, that I’ve foun’ out her 
secret, I love her more than anythin' in the world /” 

“But, Jack, her pas’ life — you know nothin’ of 
it.” 

“What she was, I don’t know. What she is , I 
do lcnowl What she will be, I feel that shore I’ll 
trust my future happiness to her! Instead of 
losin’ faith in men — as a man would’ve lost in 
woman — she trusts me, after her awful expe- 
rience. By jinks! if a woman ever treated me as 
that feller treated the Kid, I would have no faith 
in any of ’em!” 

“I’m only warnin’ you.” 

“You kain’t expect more of a woman that you 
kin of a man. If a man’s down we’ll lend him a 
helpin’ hand. Kain’t we do as much fer a 
woman?” 

“Yes; but what’ll the people say?” 

“The people be hanged! If any of the gossips 
dare to wag their tongues, I’ll speak a few words 
that’ll keep ’em busy fer the nex’ six months! 
Oh, I pity a worl’ that kain’t forgive a woman 
that’s suffered!” 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


425 


“But, they will talk.” 

“They kin go plumb — I’ll merry in spite of 
’em!” 

“Very well,” said the Colonel, “you’ll be doin’ 
it ’gainst my will!” 

“I’ve given my word to her, an’ I’ll keep it. 
Nothin’ shall make me send that woman’s soul to 
hell. I love her!” 

There was a short pause. 

“Jack, she mus’ leave this ranch,” declared 
the Colonel as he went toward the porch door, 
where he hesitated, half turned, then left without 
replying. 

J ack was aroused by a light rap. He walked to 
the sleeping apartment door, opened it, and his 
sweetheart entered, dressed in white! She went 
to him with a smothered cry and he caressed her 
a moment in silence. “What name shall I call 
you, dear?” he asked presently. 

“My right name is Kate Talbert.” 

“Kate Talbert,’ ’ he repeated tenderly, stroking 
her hair. 

After a short silence, she asked, “Where’s the 
Colonel? Tell me — what do you mean? Where’s 
the Colonel?” 

“Gone out,” Jack evaded. 

But the girl understood. 


420 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


“I thought so! I ain’t fit to merry you, but I 
couldn’t resis’ when you asked me — ’cause I love 
you! You made me fergit myself! Oh — I’m 
punished too hard! I can’t stan’ it!” She burst 
into tears. 

“Don’t cry, Kate,” said Jack, leading her to a 
chair by the long pine table; “don’t feel bad; 
I’m a-goin’ to stan’ by you! Let’s put the past 
behind, an’ we’ll think only of the present an’ 
future!” 

“Jack, I love you! If anything should happen 
atween us now, I couldn’t live! I’ve had ’nough 
disgrace and sorrow — ” 

“You’re as good before God as any woman in 
New Mexico, and I’m a-goin’ to make you my 
wife! Nothin’ shall drive me from you! I love 
you, Kid!” 

“But yore father?” 

“When you’re a-goin’ to git on a wall-eyed 
bronc’ an’ he puts back his ears an’ rolls his 
eyes, what do you know?” Jack asked. 

“I know he’s a-goin’ to pitch,” the girl replied 
wonderingly. 

“When the Colonel goes out, not givin’ me an 
answer, I know he’s gone out into the air to cool 
off a bit. He’ll do some mighty hard thinkin’. 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


427 


an* he’ll come back with a little common sense. 
The Colonel’s no fool. He don’t object to our 
marriage ’cause you’ve be’n sinned ’gainst, but 
because he’s ’fraid of what the people will say.” 

“True, Jack, I’ll hurt yore name. Why will 
you give up everythin’ fer me?” 

“ ’Cause you ’re everything to me!” he said 
simply as he kissed her again and again. 

“I never hoped to feel the joy of love again!” 
sobbed the happy girl. 

“Ah, Kate, Clara taught me what a sacrificin’ 
creature is woman! An’ May taught me not to 
expect more of a woman than I would of a man.” 

“I’m ’fraid yore love is blind!” said Kate. 

“ ‘When love is blind 

It puts bad faults behind; 

And gives and takes, 

But never breaks 

The heart — when love is true, 

It can see only you.’ ” 

“Now, don’t give me all the credit. I ain’t no 
angel. I only come before you jus’ as I am. I’ve 
tol’ you the truth; but you’ll trust me an’ I’ll be 
true to you, Kate, I shorely will.” 

After a pause, Kate declared, “The only thing 


428 


A CHILD OF THE PLAINS 


I’m ’fraid of is yore father. He might leave you 
out of his will!” 

“I’ve earned my bread afore. I’ve worked 
hard from a little shaver. Guess I kin fin’ a 
livin’ somewhars on the range! I’ll build a little 
log-cabin! We’ll start with a few cows! I’ll do 
the punchin’ an’ you’ll be the boss! Some day 
we’ll be cattle-kings! A hundred miles to the 
neares’ railroad station; our neares’ neighbor 
thirty miles away, who kin bother us? We kin 
live alone an’ be happy! Ah, that's livin' !" 

“Sweetheart, you’ve lifted a heavy load off my 
life! I feel that there’s somethin’ now to live for! 
You don’t know how many times I was tempted 
to do ’way with myself. Often I’d think I’d fling 
myself into a river an’ end my life! But now. 
Jack, you’ve made me happy — so very happy! 
The darkness has gone out of my life, an’ the sun 
shines bright once more!” Again she kissed him. 

“Every good woman I’ve ever met has taught 
me nobleness.” declared Jack. “Every expe- 
rience adds to my admiration for yore sex. A 
man kain’t any more git along without a wife than 
a cowpuncher kin without his hoss. Sometimes 
the bronc’ bucks, but he goes jus’ the same, 
’cause he don’t like to feel the spurs in his ribs. 
Sometimes merried people ‘pitch’, but they go 


THE MAN IN CHAPS 


429 


jus’ the same, ’cause they’re ’fraid of the law. 
That shouldn’t be. Some hosses go ’cause 
they like to go. The same way with some 
merried people. They know what it is to live!” 

“You’re right. Jack: they know what it is to 
live. Well live! live! live!” 

They looked up as a tall form darkened the 
doorway, and the Colonel entered the mess- 
house. 

“Well, father,” said Jack cheerily, “you’ll say 
good-bye to us and wish us luck, won’t you?” 

“You’re not goin’ to leave the old ranch?” 
the father pleaded. 

“It’s better so,” suggested Jack. 

“If I should ask you to stay?” implored the 
father. 

“You mean — ” Jack joyfully exclaimed. 

“Harry, will you come to your father?” be- 
sought the Colonel. He kissed her blushing 
cheeks, and said: “Your husband ought to be 
very happy!” 

“We are!” cried the happy girl, trembling with 
the exultation. 

The father pushed her gently toward his son, 
and as the happy lovers clasped in loving em- 
brace, he quietly left the room, with the tears 
r unnin g down his smiling cheeks. 




















The Garden Series 


By CARRO FRANCES WARREN 

When completed will comprise SIX of the most fascinating, 
and at the same time uplifting and instructive stories for 
children ever written. The titles are: 

(1) Little Betty Marigold and Her Friends. 

(2) Little Polly Primrose and Her Friends. 

(8) Little Goldie Goldenrod and Her Friends. 

(4) Little Danny Dandelion. 

(5) Little Peter Pansy. 

(6) Little Topsy Thistle. 

Of these the first three have already been issued and 
Number Four will make an early appearance. 

Each volume will contain a page showing all the flowers 
mentioned in the story in all the beauty of their natural 
colors. These nature studies will be of great interest 
and value to every child reader. 

The many colored illustrations and handsome binding 
will make any or all of these volumes most attractive gift 
books for the children. They will be sold at a uniform 
price of 75 cents each. 

At all Booksellers or sent ‘postpaid by 

The C. M. Clark Publishing Co. 

211 Tremont Street :: Boston. Mass. 


SELECTIONS FROM LIST OF 

Ihe C. N. Clark Publishing Co. 

WINDING WATERS. By Frances Parker. 

Illustrated. Cloth. Price , $1.50. 

Author of the two big Western successes : “ Hope Hathaway ” 
and “ Marjie of the Lower Ranch.” This is the first work from 
the pen of Miss Parker in four years. You will find in her new 
strong and compelling story of the Great West many startling dis- 
closures of our land that will rouse criticism and interest. 

TRACT NUMBER 3377. By George H. Higgins and Margaret 
Higgins Haffey. 

Spendidly Illustrated. Cloth. Price , $ 1.50 . 

Tells how Ashton Walbridge, a young college man, enters 
the oil regions to make his fortune, and how he overcomes all 
obstacles. You will admire Enoch, laugh at “ Little Prue ” and 
sympathize with Anna. Said by many critics who have read the 
advance sheets to be far and ahead of John Fox, Jr.’s “The Trail 
of the Lonesome Pine.” Bound to be a big seller. 

REAL LETTERS OF A REAL GIRL. By Betty. 

Bichly bound. Price , $1.25. 

The author of this splendid book possesses that rarest of 
gifts, genuine and spontaneous humor. She has, moreover, the 
broad outlook of life and the people that travel in many lands, 
coupled with the keen observation and wit to record her impressions 
that makes her book at once unique and captivating. 

THE HEART OF SILENCE. By Walter S. Cramp. 

Bichly bound. Price, $1.50. 

The scene of the opening part of this story is laid in Italy with 
an American family, consisting of a retired manufacturer from the 
United States, his wife and daughter, who is the heroine, and a 
foster son. Around this family is woven a charming tale of love 
and romance. Not a dull line. 

MY SOLDIER LADY. By Ella Hamilton Durley. 

Illustrated. Cloth. Price , $1.25. 

This bright little book gives the other half of the correspond- 
ence comprising that charming story, “ The Lady of the Decora- 
tion,” but is complete in itself and entirely independent and 
original in conception and heart interest. Five editions and still 
selling. 


THE BELL COW. By Bryant E. Sherman. 

Illustrated . Cloth. Price, $1.50. 

Decidedly a story of simple country life. The trials and 
pleasures are those of the out-of-the-way places. There is plot 
strong enough to keep the reader’s interest from cover to cover. 
Humor, pathos and excitement are all here, but the most important 
part i9 played by the Aunt Betsy, the old maid with the big heart. 

ALICE BRENTON. By Mary Josephine Gale. 

Illustrated. Cloth. Price, #1.50. 

The author has drawn a vivid picture of Colonial Newport, with 
her wealth and culture, spacious mansions and handsome grounds. 

Mrs. Gale describes the sufferings and privations of the people 
during those trying days, calls attention to the depredations of the 
soldiers, and in the end makes love triumph over all obstacles. 
The book has ingenuity in plot, and much interesting material. 
— The News , Newport, B. I. 

THE DOOR WHERE THE WRONG LAY. By Mary E. Greene. 

Illustrated. Cloth. Price , $1.50. 

A story that will well repay the reading is “ The Door Where 
The Wrong Lay.” The plot is a strange and unusual one, and the 
story is one which will linger in the memory long after many a 
lighter tale is forgotten. — Boston Times. 

A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN. By John Charles Spoth. 

Illustrated. Cloth . Price , $1.50. 

A homely little tale of wholesome sentiment, bearing the title, 
“A Knight In Homespun,” has its scene mainly in and about 
Pocono Mountains in Eastern Pennsylvania. It is told through the 
medium of the old clock, which for many years had ticked off the 
time in the hall of the home of Dr. Henry Boosch, while it watched 
the development of the human drama which went on in the house- 
hold. — New York Times. 

UNCLE SIM. By Fred Perrlne Lake. 

Illustrated. Cloth. Price , $1.50. 

A story with a charming rural setting is “ Uncle Sim.” It 
gives admirable portraiture of the types to be found in a country 
village — pleasant, kindly, royal-hearted folk, whose aquaintance 
is well worth the reader's while — Boston Times. 

AT THE SIGN OF THE BLUE ANCHOR. By Grace R. Osgood. 

Illustrated. Cloth. Price, $1.50. 

This tale of Colonial Days in New Jersey takes one among 
charming people, through delightful and romantic scenes both in 
the Old World and New. 


A Truly Great Story 


“THIS WAS A MAN!” 

By HATTIE HORNER LOUTHAN 


His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mix’d in him, that Nature might stand up 
And say to all the world “This was a Man I” 

— Shakttpeart 


The Victory of a Character over 
Circumstances 


I F you read but one book this year, this is the book 
that you should read. It is the most powerful, 
soul-stirring tale that has passed through the presses 
in many years. It is a story of heredity, a story based 
on the belief that “blood will tell,” a story of sinners 
and of one who “was a man.” The scene is laid 
in Colorado at the present time. 

Frontispiece of Paul , the Hero 


ATTRACTIVELY BOUND IN CLOTH 

Price, $1.50 


The C. M. Clark Publishing Company 

BOSTON, MASS. 































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